T, 


E.CR,  SQMERVILLE 


Calif  oral 

egional 

icility 


VS 


MOUNT  MUSIC 


By  the  same  Authors 

SOME  EXPERIENCES  OF  AN 

IRISH  R.M. 
FURTHER  EXPERIENCES  OF  AN 

IRISH  R.M. 

IN  MR.  KNOX'S  COUNTRY 
ALL  ON  THE  IRISH  SHORE 
SOME  IRISH  YESTERDAYS 

AN  IRISH  COUSIN 

THE  REAL  CHARLOTTE 

THE  SILVER  FOX 

IRISH  MEMORIES 


LONGMANS,   GREEN   AND   CO. 

LONDON,   NEW  YORK,   BOMBAY, 
CALCUTTA  AND  MADRAS. 


BY 
E.  GE.  SOMERVILLE 

AND 

MARTIN  ROSS 

AUTHORS  OF 

"THE  REAL  CHARLOTTE,"    "SOME  EXPERIENCES 
OF  AN  IRISH  R.M.,"    "  ALL  ON  THE  IRISH  SHORE," 

ETC.,  ETC. 


LONGMANS,  GREEN  AND  CO. 


COPYRIGHT,  1^20,  BY 
LONGMANS,  GREEN  &  CO. 


All  rights  reserved 


PREFACE 

This  book  was  planned  some  years  ago  by  Martin 
Ross  and  myself.  A  few  portions  of  it  were  written, 
and  it  was  then  put  aside  for  other  work. 

Without  her  help  and  inspiration,  it  would  not 
have  been  begun,  and  could  not  have  been  completed. 
I  feel,  therefore,  that  to  join  her  name  with  mine  on 
the  title-page  is  my  duty,  as  well  as  my  pleasure. 

E.  (E.  SOMERVILLE. 


2061427 


MOUNT  MUSIC 


CHAPTER  I 

"CHRISTIAN,  dost  thou  see  them?"  sang  an  elder  brother, 
small  enough  to  be  brutal,  large  enough  to  hurt,  while  he 
twisted  Christian's  arm  as  though  it  were  indeed  the  rope 
that  it  so  much  resembled. 

"I  won't  say  I  saw  them,  because  I  didn't!"  replied 
Christian,  who  had  ceased  to  struggle,  but  was  as  far  as  ever 
from  submission;  "but  if  I  had,  you  might  twist  my  arm  till 
it  was  like  an  old  pig's  tail  and  I  wouldn't  give  in!" 

Possibly  John  realised  the  truth  of  this  defiance.  He 
administered  a  final  thump  on  what  he  believed  to  be  Chris- 
tian's biceps,  and  released  her. 

"Pretty  rotten  to  spoil  the  game,  and  then  tell  lies,"  he 
said,  with  severity. 

"I  don't  tell  lies,"  said  Christian,  flitting  like  a  gnat  to 
the  open  window  of  the  schoolroom.  "You  sang  the  wrong 
verse!  It  ought  to  have  been  'hear  them,'  and  I  do!" 

Having  thus  secured  the  last  word,  Miss  Christian  Talbot- 
Lowry,  aged  nine  in  years,  and  ninety  in  spirit,  sprang  upon 
the  window-sill,  leapt  lightly  into  a  flower-bed,  and  betook 
herself  to  the  resort  most  favoured  by  her,  the  kennels  of 
her  father's  hounds. 

What  person  is  there  who,  having  attained  to  such  ma- 
turity as  is  required  for  legible  record,  shall  presume  to  recon- 
struct, either  from  memory  or  from  observation,  the  mind  of 
a  child?  Certain  mental  attitudes  may  be  recalled,  certain 


8  MOUNT  MUSIC 

actions  predicated  in  certain  circumstances,  but  the  stream  of 
the  mind,  with  its  wayward  currents,  its  secret  eddies,  flows 
underground,  and  its  course  can  only  be  £uessed  at  by  tokens 
of  speech  and  of  action,  that  are  like  the  rushes,  and  the 
yellow  king-cups,  and  the  emerald  of  the  grass,  that  show 
where  hidden  waters  run.  Nothing  more  presumptuous  than 
the  gathering  of  a  few  of  these  tokens  will  here  be  attempted, 
and  of  these,  only  such  as  may  help  to  explain  the  time  when 
these  children,  emerging  from  childhood,  began  to  play  their 
parts  in  the  scene  destined  to  be  theirs. 

This  history  opens  at  a  moment  for  Christian  and  her 
brethren  when,  possibly  for  the  last  time  in  their  several 
careers,  they  asked  nothing  more  of  life.  This  was  the 
beginning  of  the  summer  holidays;  the  sky  was  unclouded 
by  a  governess,  the  sunny  air  untainted  by  the  whiff  of  a 
thought  of  a  return  to  school.  Anything  might  happen  in 
seven  weeks.  The  end  of  the  world,  for  instance,  might 
mercifully  intervene,  and,  as  this  was  Ireland,  there  was 
always  a  hope  of  a  "rising,"  in  which  case  it  would  be  the 
boys'  pleasing  duty  to  stay  at  home  and  fight. 

"Well,  and  Judith  and  I  would  fight,  too,"  Christian 
would  say,  thinking  darkly  of  the  Indian  knife  that  she  had 
stolen  from  the  smoking-room,  for  use  in  emergencies.  She 
varied  in  her  arrangements  as  to  the  emergency.  Sometimes 
the  foe  was  to  be  the  Land  Leaguers,  who  were  much  in  the 
foreground  at  this  time;  sometimes  she  decided  upon  the 
English  oppressors  of  a  down-trodden  Ireland,  to  whose 
slaughter,  on  the  whole,  her  fancy  most  inclined.  But  what- 
ever the  occasion,  she  was  quite  determined  she  was  not  going 
to  be  outdone  by  the  boys. 

At  nine  years  old,  Christian  was  a  little  rag  of  a  girl;  a 
rag,  but  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  rag  that  is  nailed  to 
the  mast,  and  flaunts,  unconquered,  until  it  is  shot  away. 
She  had  a  small  head,  round  and  brown  as  a  hazel-nut,  and 
a  thick  mop  of  fine,  bright  hair,  rebellious  like  herself,  of  the 
sort  that  goes  with  an  ardent  personality,  waved  and  curled 
over  her  little  poll,  and  generally  ended  the  day  in  a  tangle 


MOUNT  MUSIC  g 

only  less  intricate  than  can  be  achieved  by  a  skein  of  silk. 
Of  her  small  oval  face,  people  were  accustomed  to  say  it  was 
all  eyes,  an  unoriginal  summarising,  but  one  that  forced 
itself  inevitably  upon  those  who  met  Christian's  eyes,  clear 
and  shining,  of  the  pale  brown  that  the  sun  knows  how  to 
waken  in  a  shallow  pool  in  a  hill-stream,  set  in  a  dark  fringe 
of  lashes  that  were  like  the  rushes  round  the  pool.  Before 
she  could  speak,  it  was  told  of  her  eyes  that  they  would 
quietly  follow  some  visitor,  invisible  to  others,  but  obvious  to 
her.  Occasionally,  after  the  mysterious  power  of  speech — 
that  is  almost  as  mysterious  as  the  power  of  reading — had 
come  to  her,  she  had  scared  the  nursery  by  broken  conversa- 
tion with  viewless  confederates,  defined  by  the  nursery-maid 
as  "quare  turns  that'd  take  her,  the  Lord  save  us!"  and  by 
her  mother,  as  "something  that  she  will  outgrow,  and  the 
less  said  about  it  the  better,  darlings.  Remember,  she  is  the 

youngest,  and  you  must  all  be  very  wise  and  kind "  (a 

formula  that  took  no  heed  of  punctuation,  and  was  practically 
invariable). 

But  as  Christian  grew  older  the  confederates  withdrew, 
either  that,  or  the  protecting  shell  of  reserve  that  guards  the 
growth  of  individuality,  interposed,  and  her  dealings  with 
things  unseen  ceased  to  attract  the  attention  of  her  elders. 
It  was  John,  her  senior  by  two  years,  who  preserved  an 
interest,  of  an  inquisitorial  sort,  in  what  he  had  decided  to 
call  the  Troops  of  Midian.  There  was  a  sacerdotal  turn 
about  John.  He  had  early  decided  upon  the  Church  as  his 
vocation,  and  only  hesitated  between  the  roles  of  Primate  of 
Ireland  and  Pope  of  Rome.  He  had  something  of  the  poet 
and  enthusiast  about  him,  and  something  also  of  the  bully, 
and  it  was  quite  possible  that  he  might  do  creditably  in  either 
position,  but  at  this  stage  of  his  development  his  ecclesiastical 
proclivities  chiefly  displayed  themselves  in  a  dramatic  study, 
founded  upon  that  well-known  Lenten  hymn  that  puts  a  suc- 
cession of  searching  enquiries,  of  a  personal  character,  to  a 
typical  Christian.  A  missionary  lecture  on  West  Africa  had 
supplied  some  useful  hints  as  to  the  treatment  of  witches,  and 


io  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Christian's  name,  and  the  occult  powers  with  which  she  was 
credited,  had  indicated  her  as  heroine  of  the  piece. 

On  this  particular  afternoon  the  game  had  begun  prosper- 
ously, with  Christian  as  the  Witch  of  Endor,  and  John  as  a 
blend  of  the  Prophet  Samuel  and  the  Head  Inquisitor  of 
Spain.  A  smouldering  saucer  of  sulphur,  purloined  by  the 
witch  herself  from  the  kennels  medicine-cupboard,  gave  a 
stimulating  reality  to  the  scene,  even  though  it  had  driven 
the  fox  terriers,  who  habitually  acted  as  the  Witch's  cats, 
to  abandon  their  parts,  and  to  hurry,  sneezing  and  coughing 
indignantly,  to  the  kitchen.  The  twins,  Jimmy  and  Georgy, 
however,  obligingly  took  their  parts,  and  all  was  going  accord- 
ing to  ritual,  when  one  of  the  sudden  and  annoying  attacks 
of  rebellion  to  which  she  was  subject,  came  upon  the  Witch 
of  Endor.  The  orthodox  conclusion  involved  a  penitential 
march  through  the  kitchen  regions,  the  Witch  swathed  in  a 
sheet,  and  carrying  lighted  candles,  while  she  was  ceremo- 
nially flagellated  by  the  Prophet  with  one  of  his  father's 
hunting  crops.  This  crowning  moment  was  approaching, 
Christian  had  but  to  reply  suitably  to  the  intimidating  riddles 
of  the  hymn,  and  the  final  act  would  open  in  all  its  solemnity. 
For,  as  has  been  said,  the  spirit  of  revolt  whispered  to  her, 
and  ingeniously  persuaded  her  that  the  required  recantation 
committed  her  to  a  falsehood. 

As  she  told  John,  when  the  formal  inquisition  had  passed 
through  acrid  dispute  to  torture,  she  didn't  tell  lies. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  the  days  when  Christian  TalLot-Lowry  was  a  little  girl, 
that  is  to  say  between  the  eighties  and  nineties  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  the  class  known  as  Landed  Gentry  was  still 
pre-eminent  in  Ireland.  Tenants  and  tradesmen  bowed  down 
before  them,  with  love  sometimes,  sometimes  with  hatred, 
never  with  indifference.  The  newspapers  of  their  districts 
recorded  their  enterprises  in  marriage,  in  birth,  in  death, 
copiously,  and  with  a  servile  rapture  of  detail  that,  though 
it  is  not  yet  entirely  withheld  from  their  survivors,  is  now 
bestowed  with  equal  unction  on  those  who,  in  many  in- 
stances, have  taken  their  places,  geographically,  if  not  their 
place,  socially,  in  Irish  every-day  existence.  There  is  little 
doubt  but  that  after  the  monsters  of  the  Primal  Periods 
had  been  practically  extinguished,  a  stray  reptile,  here  and 
there,  escaped  the  general  doom,  and,  as  Mr.  Yeats  says  of 
his  lug-worm,  may  have  sung  with  "its  grey  and  muddy 
mouth"  of  how  "somewhere  to  North  or  West  or  South, 
there  dwelt  a  gay,  exulting,  gentle  race"  of  Plesiosauridae, 
or  Pterodactyli.  Even  thus  may  this  record  be  regarded;  as 
partial,  perhaps,  but  as  founded  on  the  facts  of  a  not  wholly 
to  be  condemned  past. 

Christian's  father,  Richard  Talbot-Lowry,  was  a  good- 
looking,  long-legged,  long-moustached  Major,  who,  conform- 
ing beautifully  to  type,  was  a  soldier,  sportsman,  and  loyalist, 
as  had  been  his  ancestors  before  him.  He  had  fought  in  the 
Mutiny  as  a  lad  of  nineteen,  and  had  been  wounded  in  the 
thigh  in  a  cavalry  charge  in  a  subsequent  fight  on  the  Afghan 
Frontier.  Dick,  like  Horatius,  "halted  upon  one  knee"  for 
the  rest  of  his  life,  but  since  the  injury  gave  him  no  trouble 
in  the  saddle,  and  did  not  affect  the  sit  of  his  trousers,  he  did 

II 


is  MOUNT  MUSIC 

not  resent  it,  and  possibly  enjoyed  its  occasional  exposition 
to  an  enquirer.  When  hio  father  died,  he  left  the  Army,  and, 
still  true  to  the  family  traditions,  proceeded  to  "settle  down" 
at  Mount  Music,  and  tc  take  into  his  own  hands  the  manage- 
ment of  the  property. 

Of  the  Talbot-Lowrys  it  may  be  truly  said  that  the  lot 
had  fallen  to  them  in  a  fair  ground.  Their  ancestor,  the 
Gentleman  Adventurer  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  had  had 
the  eye  for  the  country  that,  in  a  slightly  different  sense, 
had  descended  to  his  present  representative.  Mount  Music 
House  stood  about  midway  of  a  long  valley,  on  a  level  plateau 
of  the  hill  from  which  it  took  its  name,  Cnocan  an  Ceoil 
Sidhe,  which  means  the  Hill  of  Fairy  Music,  and  may, 
approximately,  be  pronounced  "Knockawn  an  K'yole 
Shee."  The  hill  melted  downwards — no  other  word  can  ex- 
press the  velvet  softness  of  those  mild,  grassy  slopes — to  the 
shore  of  the  River  Broadwater,  a  slow  and  lordly  stream, 
that  moved  mightily  down  the  wide  valley,  became  merged 
for  a  space  in  Lough  Kieraun,  and  thence  flowed  onwards, 
broad  and  brimming,  bearded  with  rushes,  passing  like  a 
king,  cloaked  in  the  splendours  of  the  sunset,  to  its  suicide 
in  the  far-away  Atlantic.  The  demesne  of  Mount  Music 
lay  along  its  banks;  in  woods  often,  more  often  in  pastures; 
with  boggy  places  ringed  with  willows,  lovely,  in  their  sea- 
sons, with  yellow  flags,  and  meadowsweet,  kingcups,  ragwort 
and  loosestrife.  Its  western  boundary  was  the  Ownashee,  a 
mountain  stream,  a  tributary  of  the  great  river,  that  came 
storming  down  from  the  hills,  and,  in  times  of  flood,  snatch- 
ing, like  a  border-reiver,  at  sheep,  and  pigs,  and  fowl,  toss- 
ing its  spoils  in  a  tumble  of  racing  waves  into  the  wide 
waters  of  its  chieftain. 

Mount  Music  House  was  large,  intensely  solid,  practical, 
sensible,  of  that  special  type  of  old  Irish  country-house  that 
is  entirely  remote  from  the  character  of  the  men  that  origi- 
nated it,  and  can  only  be  explained  as  the  expiring  cry  of 
the  English  blood.  How  many  Anglo-Irish  great-great- 
grandfathers have  not  raised  these  monuments  to  their 


MOUNT  MUSIC  13 

English  forbears,  and  then,  recognising  their  obligations  to 
their  Irish  mothers'  ancestry,  have  filled  them,  gloriously, 
with  horses  and  hounds,  and  butts  of  claret,  and  hungry 
poor  relations  unto  the  fourth  and  fifth  generations?  That 
they  were  a  puissant  breed,  the  history  of  the  Empire,  in 
which  they  have  so  staunchly  borne  their  parts,  can  tell; 
their  own  point  of  view  is  fairly  accurately  summed  up  in 
Curran's  verse : — 

"If  sadly  thinking,  with  spirits  sinking, 

Could  more  than  drinking  my  cares  compose, 
A  cure  for  sorrow  from  sighs  I'd  borrow, 

And  hope  to-morrow  would  end  my  woes. 
But  as  in  wailing  there's  nought  availing, 

And  Death  unfailing  will  strike  the  blow, 
Then  for  that  reason,  and  for  a  season, 

Let  us  be  merry  before  we  go." 

For  Dick  Talbot-Lowry,  however,  and  many  another  like 
him,  the  merriment  of  his  great-grandfather  was  indifferent 
compensation  for  the  fact  that  his  grandfather's  and  his 
father's  consequent  borrowings  were  by  no  means  limited  to 
cures  for  sorrow.  Mortgages,  charges,  younger  children 
(superfluous  and  abhorrent  to  the  Heaven-selected  Head  of 
a  Family) — all  these  had  driven  wedges  deep  into  the  Mount 
Music  estate.  But,  fortunately,  a  good-looking,  long-legged, 
ex-Hussar  need  not  rely  exclusively  on  his  patrimony,  while 
matrimony  is  still  within  the  sphere  or  practical  politics. 
When,  at  close  on  forty-one  years  of  age  (and  looking  no 
more  than  thirty),  Dick  left  the  Army,  his  next  step  was 
to  make  what  was  universally  conceded  to  be  "a  very  nice 
marriage,"  and  on  the  whole,  regarding  it  from  the  impartial 
standpoint  of  Posterity,  the  universe  may  be  said  to  have 
been  justified  in  its  opinion. 

Lady  Isabel  Christian  was  the  daughter  of  an  English 
Earl,  and  she  brought  with  her  to  Mount  Music  twenty 
thousand  golden  sovereigns,  which  are  very  nice  things,  and 


i4  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Lady  Isabel  herself  was  indisputably  a  nice  thing  too.  She 
was  tall  and  fair,  and  quite  pretty  enough  (as  Dick's  female 
relatives  said,  non-committally).  She  was  sufficiently 
musical  to  play  the  organ  in  church  (which  is  also  a  state- 
ment provided  with  an  ample  margin) ;  she  was  a  docile  and 
devoted  wife,  a  futile  and  extravagant  house-keeper,  kindly 
and  unpunctual,  prolific  without  resentment;  she  regarded 
with  mild  surprise  the  large  and  strenuous  family  that  rushed 
past  her,  as  a  mountain  torrent  might  rush  past  an  untidy 
flower  garden,  and,  after  nearly  fourteen  years  of  maternal 
experience,  she  had  abandoned  the  search  for  a  point  of  con- 
tact with  their  riotous  souls,  and  contented  herself  with  an 
indiscriminate  affection  for  their  very  creditable  bodies.  Lady 
Isabel  had — if  the  saying  may  be  reversed — "les  qualites  de 
ses  defauts,"  and  these  latter  could  have  no  environment  less 
critical  and  more  congenial  than  that  in  which  it  had  pleased 
her  mother  to  place  her.  It  was  right  and  fitting  that  the 
wife  of  the  reigning  Talbot-Lowry  of  Mount  Music,  should 
inevitably  lead  the  way  at  local  dinner-parties;  should,  with 
ladylike  inaudibleness,  declare  that  "this  Bazaar"  or  "Village 
Hall"  was  open.  It  was  no  more  than  the  duty  of  Major 
Talbot-Lowry  (D.L.,  and  J.P.)  to  humanity,  that  his  race 
should  multiply  and  replenish  the  earth,  and  Lady  Isabel 
had  unrepiningly  obliged  humanity  to  the  extent  of  four  sons 
and  two  daughters.  Major  Dick's  interest  in  the  multipli- 
cation was,  perhaps,  more  abstract  than  hers. 

"Yes,"  he  would  say,  genially,  to  an  enquiring  farmer, 
"I  have  four  ploughmen  and  two  dairymaids!" 

Or,  to  a  friend  of  soldiering  days:  "Four  blackguard  boys 
and  only  a  brace  of  the  Plentiful  Sex!" 

A  disproportion  for  which,  by  some  singular  action  of  the 
mind,  he  took-  to  himself  considerable  credit. 

Miss  Frederica  Coppinger  (who  will  presently  be  Intro- 
duced) was  accustomed  to  scandalise  Lady  Isabel  by  the 
assertion  that  paternal  affection  no  more  existed  in  men  than 
in  tom-cats.  An  over-statement,  no  doubt,  but  one  that 
was  quite  free  from  malice  or  disapproval.  Undoubtedly, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  15 

a  father  should  learn  to  bear  the  yoke  in  his  youth,  and 
Dick  was  old,  as  fathers  go.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  when 
the  Four  Blackguards  began  to  clamour  for  mounts  with  the 
hounds,  and  the  representatives  of  the  Plentiful  Sex  outgrew 
the  donkey,  Major  Talbot-Lowry  had  moments  of  resent- 
ment against  his  offspring,  during  which  his  wife,  like  a  wise 
doe-rabbit,  found  it  safest  to  sweep  her  children  out  of  sight, 
and  to  sit  at  the  mouth  of  the  burrow,  having  armed  herself 
with  an  appealing  headache  and  a  better  dinner  than  usual. 
The  children  liked  him;  not  very  much,  but  sufficient  for 
general  decency  and  the  Fifth  Commandment.  They  loved 
their  mother,  but  despised  her,  faintly;  (again,  not  too  much 
for  compliance  with  the  Commandment  aforesaid).  Finally, 
it  may  be  said  that  Major  Dick  and  Lady  Isabel  were  sin- 
cerely attached  to  one  another,  and  that  she  took  his  part, 
quite  frequently,  against  the  children. 

If,  accepting  the  tom-cat  standard  of  paternity,  Dick 
Talbot-Lowry  had  a  preference  for  one  kitten  more  than 
another,  that  kitten  was,  indisputably,  Christian. 

"The  little  devil  knows  the  hounds  better  than  I  do!" 
he  would  say  to  a  brother  M.F.H.  at  the  Puppy  Show.  "Her 
mother  can't  keep  her  out  of  the  kennels.  And  the  hounds 
are  mad  about  her.  I  believe  she  could  take  'em  walking- 
out  single-handed!" 

To  which  the  brother  M.F.H.  would  probably  respond 
with  perfidious  warmth:  "By  Jove!"  while,  addressing  that 
inner  confidant,  who  always  receives  the  raciest  share  of  any 
conversation,  he  would  say  that  he'd  be  jiggered  before  he'd 
let  any  of  his  children  mess  the  hounds  about  with  petting 
and  nonsense. 

In  justice  to  Lady  Isabel,  it  should  be  said  that  she  shared 
the  visiting  M.F.H. 's  view  of  the  position,  though  regarding 
it  from  a  different  angle. 

"Christian,  my  dearest  child,"  she  said,  on  the  day  follow- 
ing the  Puppy  Show  that  had  coincided  with  Christian's 
eighth  birthday,  when,  after  a  long  search,  she  had  dis- 
covered her  youngest  daughter,  seated,  tailor-wise,  in  one  of 


16  MOUNT  MUSIC 

the  kennels,  the  centre  of  a  mat  of  hounds.     "This  is  not  a 
fit  place  for  you!    You  don't  know  what  you  may  not  bring 

back  with  you " 

"If  you  mean  fleas,  Mother,"  replied  Christian,  firmly, 
"the  hounds  have  none,  except  what  /  bring  them  from 
Yummie."  (Yummie  was  Lady  Isabel's  dog,  a  sickly  and 
much  despised  spaniel).  "The  Hounds!"  Christian  laughed 
a  little;  the  laugh  that  is  the  flower  of  the  root  of  scorn. 
Then  her  eyes  softened  and  glowed.  "Darlings!"  she  mur- 
mured, kissing  wildly  the  tan  head  of  the  puppy  who,  but 
the  day  before,  had  been  reft  from  her  charge. 


CHAPTER  III 

THERE  are  certain  persons  who  are  born  heralds  and 
genealogists;  there  are  many  more  to  whom  these  useful 
gifts  have  been  denied.  With  apologies  to  both  classes,  to 
the  one  for  sins  of  omission,  to  the  other  in  the  reverse  sense, 
I  find  that  an  excerpt  from  the  Talbot-Lowry  pedigree  must 
be  inflicted  upon  them. 

With  all  brevity,  let  it  be  stated  that  Dick  Talbot-Lowry 
possessed  a  father,  General  John  Richard,  and  General  John 
Richard  had  an  only  sister,  Caroline.  Caroline,  fair  and 
handsome,  like  all  her  family,  was  "married  off,"  as  was  the 
custom  of  her  period,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  to  elderly 
Anthony  Coppinger,  chiefly  for  the  reason  that  he  was  the 
owner  of  Coppinger's  Court,  with  a  very  comfortable  rent- 
roll,  and  a  large  demesne,  that  marched,  as  to  its  eastern 
boundaries,  with  that  of  Mount  Music,  and  was,  as  it  hap- 
pened, divided  from  it  by  no  more  than  the  Ownashee,  that 
mountain  river  of  which  mention  has  been  made.  It  was, 
therefore,  exceedingly  advisable  that  the  existing  friendly 
relations  should  be  cemented,  as  far  as  was  practicable,  and 
the  fair  and  handsome  Caroline  was  an  obvious  and  suitable 
adhesive.  To  Anthony  and  Caroline,  two  children  were 
born ;  Frederica,  of  whom  more  hereafter,  and  Thomas.  By 
those  who  lay  claim  to  genealogic  skill,  it  will  now  be  appar- 
ent that  these  were  the  first  cousins  of  Dick  Talbot-Lowry. 
Thomas  went  into  the  Indian  Army,  and  in  India  met  and 
married  a  very  charming  young  lady,  Theresa  Quinton,  a 
member  of  an  ancient  Catholic  family  in  the  North  of  Eng- 
land, and  an  ardent  daughter  of  her  Church.  In  India,  a 
son  was  born  to  them,  and  Colonel  Tom,  who  adored  his 
wife,  remarking  that  these  things  were  out  of  his  line,  made 

17 


i8  MOUNT  MUSIC 

no  objection  to  her  bringing  up  the  son,  St.  Lawrence 
Anthony,  in  her  own  religion,  and  hoped  that  the  matter 
would  end  there.  Mrs.  Coppinger,  however,  remembering 
St.  Paul's  injunctions  to  believing  wives  and  unbelieving 
husbands,  neither  stopped  nor  stayed  her  prayers  and  exhor- 
tations, until,  just  before  the  birth  of  a  second  child,  she 
had  succeeded  in  inducing  Tom  Coppinger — (just  "to  please 
her,  and  for  the  sake  of  a  quiet  life,"  as  he  wrote,  apolo- 
getically, to  his  relations  and  friends,  far  away  in  Ireland) 
to  join  her  Communion.  She  then  died,  and  her  baby  fol- 
lowed her.  Colonel  Tom,  a  very  sad  and  lonely  man,  came 
to  England  and  visited  St.  Lawrence  Anthony  at  the  school 
selected  for  him  by  his  mother;  then  he  returned  to  his 
regiment  in  India,  and  was  killed,  within  a  year  of  his  wife's 
death,  in  a  Frontier  expedition.  He  left  Larry  in  the  joint 
guardianship  of  his  sister,  Frederica,  and  his  first  cousin, 
Dick  Talbot-Lowry,  with  the  request  that  the  former  would 
live  with  the  boy  at  Coppinger's  Court,  and  that  the  latter 
would  look  after  the  property  until  the  boy  came  of  age 
and  could  do  so  himself;  he  also  mentioned  that  he  wished 
his  son's  education  to  continue  on  the  lines  laid  down  by 
his  "beloved  wife,  Theresa." 

It  must,  with  regret,  be  stated,  that  the  relatives  and  friends 
in  far-away  Ireland,  instead  of  admiring  "poor  Tom's" 
fidelity  to  his  wife's  wishes,  murmured  together  that  it  was 
very  unfortunate  that  "poor  Theresa"  had  not  died  when 
Larry  was  born,  as,  in  that  case,  this  "disastrous  change  of 
religion"  would  not  have  taken  place.  Taking  into  consid- 
eration the  fact  that  Larry  was  to  live  among  his  Irish 
cousins,  it  is  possible  that  from  the  point  of  view  of  ex- 
pediency, the  relations  and  friends  were  in  some  degree 
justified. 

Ireland,  it  is  almost  superfluous  to  observe,  has  long  since 
decided  to  call  herself  The  Island  of  Saints,  an  assertion  akin 
to  the  national  challenge  of  trailing  the  coat-tails,  and  be- 
lievers in  hereditary  might,  perhaps,  be  justified  in  assuming 
a  strictly  celibate  sainthood.  Be  that  as  it  may,  Irish  people 


MOUNT  MUSIC  19 

have  ever  been  prone  to  extremes,  and,  in  spite  of  the  proverb, 
there  are  some  extremes  that  never  touch,  and  chief  among 
them  are  those  that  concern  religion.  Religion,  or  rather, 
difference  of  religion,  is  a  factor  in  every-day  Irish  life  of 
infinitely  more  potency  than  it  is,  perhaps,  in  any  other 
Christian  country.  The  profundity  of  disagreement  is  such 
that  in  most  books  treating  of  Ireland,  that  are  not  deliber- 
ately sectarian,  a  system  of  water-tight  compartments  in  such 
matters  is  carefully  established.  It  is,  no  doubt,  possible  to 
write  of  human  beings  who  live  in  Ireland,  without  men- 
tioning their  religious  views,  but  to  do  so  means  a  drastic 
censoring  of  an  integral  feature  of  nearly  all  mundane  affairs. 
This  it  is  to  live  in  the  Island  of  Saints. 

In  this  humble  account  of  the  late  Plesiosauridae  and  their 
contemporaries,  it  is  improbable  that  any  saint  of  any  sect 
will  be  introduced;  one  assurance,  at  least,  may  be  offered 
without  reservation.  Those  differing  Paths,  that  alike  have 
led  many  wayfarers  to  the  rest  that  is  promised  to  the  saints, 
will  be  treated  with  an  equal  reverence  and  respect.  But  no 
rash  undertakings  can  be  given  as  touching  the  wayfarers, 
or  even  their  leaders,  who  may  chance  to  wander  through 
these  pages.  Neither  is  any  personal  responsibility  accepted 
for  the  views  that  any  of  them  may  express.  One  does  not 
blame  the  gramophone  if  the  song  is  flat,  or  if  the  reciter 
drops  his  h's. 

After  this  exhaustive  exordium  it  is  tranquillising  to  return 
to  the  comparative  simplicities  of  the  existence  of  the  young 
Talbot-Lowrys.  Those  summer  holidays  of  the  year  1894 
were  made  ever  memorable  for  them  by  the  re-inhabiting  of 
Coppinger's  Court.  Mount  Music  was  a  lonely  place;  it 
lay  on  the  river,  about  midway  between  the  towns  of  Cluhir 
and  Riverstown,  either  of  which  meant  a  five  or  six  mile 
drive,  and  to  meet  such  friends  and  acquaintances  as  the 
neighbourhood  afforded,  was,  in  winter,  a  matter  confined 
to  the  hunting-field,  and  in  summer  was  restricted,  practically, 
to  the  incidence  of  lawn-tennis  parties.  Possibly  the  children 
of  Mount  Music,  thus  thrown  upon  their  own  resources, 


ao  MOUNT  MUSIC 

developed  a  habit  of  amusing  themselves  that  was  as  ad- 
vantageous to  their  caretakers  as  to  their  characters.  It 
certainly  enhanced  very  considerably  their  interest  in  the 
advent  of  Master  St.  Lawrence  Coppinger.  He  became  the 
subject  of  frequent  and  often  heated  discussions,  the  opinion 
most  generally  held,  and  stated  with  a  fine  simplicity,  being 
that  he  would  prove  to  be  "a  rotter." 

"India,"  John  said,  "had  the  effect  of  making  people 
effemeral." 

"Effeminate,  ass!"  corrected  Richard,  shortly. 

"Anyhow,"  said  a  Twin,  charitably,  "we  can  knock  that 
out  of  him!" 

"Anyhow,"  said  Judith,  next  to  Richard  in  age  and  au- 
thority, "if  he  is  a  rotter,  he  can  go  into  the  Brats'  band. 
You  want  someone  decent,"  she  added,  addressing  the  Twin, 
whose  remark  she  felt  to  have  savoured  of  presumption. 

This  family  had,  for  purposes  of  combat  and  of  general 
entertainment,  divided  itself  into  two  factions,  that  fought 
endlessly  among  the  woods  and  shrubberies.  A  method  had 
been  recently  introduced  by  Richard  of  utilising  the  harm- 
less, necessary  pocket-handkerchief  as  a  sling  for  the  projec- 
tion of  gravel,  and  its  instant  popularity  had  resulted  in  the 
denuding  of  the  avenues  of  ammunition,  and  in  arousing  a 
great  and  just  fury  in  the  bosom  of  the  laundress. 

"God  knows  it  isn't  me  has  all  the  hankershiffs  holed  this 
way!"  she  pointed  out.  "Thim  children  is  the  divil  out- 
lawed. Thim'd  gallop  the  woods  all  the  night,  like  the 
deer!" 

The  assortment  of  the  family  had  been  decided  rather  on 
the  basis  of  dignity,  than  on  that  of  a  desire  to  equalise  the 
sides,  and  thus  it  befel  that  Richard,  Judith,  and  John,  with 
the  style  and  title  of  The  Elder  Statesmen,  were  accustomed 
to  drive  before  them  the  junior  faction  of  The  Brats,  con- 
sisting of  the  Twins,  Christian,  and  the  dogs,  Rinka  and 
Tashpy,  with  a  monotony  of  triumph  that  might  have  been 
expected  to  pall,  had  not  variety  been  imparted  by  the  in- 
vention of  the  punishments  that  were  inflicted  upon  prisoners. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  21 

There  had  been  a  long  and  hot  July  day  of  notable  warfare. 
The  Twins,  if  small,  were  swift  and  wily;  even  Christian 
had  justified  her  adoption  by  a  stealthy  and  successful  raid 
upon  the  opposition  gravel  heap.  A  long  and  savage  series 
of  engagements  had  ensued,  that  alternated  between  flights, 
and  what  Christian,  blending  recollections  of  nursery  doctor- 
ing with  methods  of  Indian  warfare,  designated  "stomach- 
attacks."  It  was  while  engaged  in  one  of  the  latter  forms 
of  assault  that  Christian  was  captured,  and,  being  abandoned 
by  her  comrades,  was  haled  by  the  captors  before  Richard, 
the  Eldest  Statesmen.  A  packed  Court-martial  of  enemies 
speedily  found  the  prisoner  guilty,  and  the  delicious  deter- 
mining of  the  punishment  absorbed  the  attention  of  the 
Court.  John,  with  a  poet's  fancy,  suggested  that  the  criminal 
should  be  compelled  to  lick  a  worm.  Judith,  more  practical, 
advocated  her  being  sent  to  the  house  to  steal  some  jam. 
"I  forgot  to,"  she  said. 

The  Court  was  held  in  the  Council  Chamber,  a  space  be- 
tween the  birches  and  hazels  on  the  bank  of  the  Ownashee; 
a  fair  and  green  room,  ceiled  with  tremulous  leaves,  encircled 
and  made  secret  by  high  bracken,  out  of  which  rose  the 
tarnished-silver  stems  of  the  birch  trees  and  the  multitudinous 
hazel-boughs,  and  furnished  with  boulders  of  limestone, 
planted  deep  in  a  green  fleece  of  mingled  moss  and  grass. 
On  one  side  only  was  it  open  to  the  world,  jret  on  that  same 
side  it  was  most  effectively  divided  from  it,  by  the  swift 
brown  stream,  speeding  down  to  the  big  river,  singing  its 
shallow  summer  song  as  it  sped. 

Richard,  Eldest  Statesman,  gazed  in  dark  reflection 
upon  the  prisoner,  meditating  her  sentence;  the  prisoner, 
young  enough  to  tremble  in  the  suspense,  old  enough  to 
enjoy  the  nerve-tension  and  the  moment  of  drama,  gazed 
back  at  him.  Her  hair  lay  in  damp  rings,  and  hung  in 
rats'-tails  about  her  forehead.  Her  small  face,  with  the  silver- 
clear  skin,  stippled  here  and  there  with  tiny  freckles,  was 
faintly  flushed,  and  moist  with  the  effort  of  her  last  great 


22  MOUNT  MUSIC 

but  unavailing  run  for  freedom;  her  wide  eyes  were  like 
brown  pools  scooped  from  the  brown  flow  of  the  Ownashee. 

"I  adjudge,"  said  Richard,  in  an  awful  voice,  "that  the 
prisoner  shall  amass  three  buckets  of  the  best  gravel.  The 
same  to  be  taken  from  the  shallow  by  the  seventh  stepping- 
stone." 

The  prisoner's  little  brown  arm,  with  a  hand  thin  and 
brown  as  a  monkey's,  went  up;  the  recognised  protest. 

"Not  the  seventh,  most  noble  Samurai,"  she  said, 
anxiously;  "  Won't  it  do  from  the  strand?" 

"I  have  spoken,"  replied  the  Eldest  Stateman,  inflexibly. 

"Then  I  won't!"  exclaimed  Christian;  "I— I  couldn't! 
The  river  giddys  me  so  awfully  when  I  stand  still  on  the 
stones " 

"Prisoner!"  returned  Richard,  "once  the  law  is  uttered, 
it  can't  be  unuttered!  Off  you  go!" 

"Well  then,  and  I  will  go!"  said  Christian,  with  a  wriggle 
so  fierce  and  sudden  that  it  loosed  the  grip  of  her  guards. 
It  is  even  possible  that  the  ensuing  lightning  dart  for  freedom 
might  have  succeeded,  but  for  the  unfortunate  fidelity  of 
her  allies,  Rinka  and  Tashpy.  The  one  sprang  at  her  brief 
skirt  and  caught  it,  the  other  got  between  her  legs.  She 
fell,  and  was  delivered  again  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

Richard  was  not  a  bully,  but  Mrs.  Sarah  Battle  was  not 
more  scrupulous  than  he  in  observing  the  rigour  of  the  game. 
Christian  was  manacled  with  the  belt  of  her  own  overall, 
and  was  hauled  along  the  golden,  but  despised,  gravel  of  the 
river  strand,  to  the  spot  whence  the  stepping-stones  started. 

"I'll  do  this  much  for  you,"  said  the  Eldest  Statesman, 
relaxing  a  little,  "I'll  go  first  and  carry  the  bucket." 

He  dragged  Christian  on  to  the  first  of  the  big,  flat,  old 
stepping-stones,  Judith  assisting  from  the  rear,  and,  with  in- 
creasing difficulty,  two  more  stones  were  achieved.  Then 
they  paused  for  breath,  and  a  sudden  whirlwind  of  passion 
came  upon  the  captive.  She  began  to  struggle  and  dance 
upon  the  flat  stone,  madly  endeavouring  to  free  her  hands, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  23' 

while  she  shrieked  to  the  dastard  Twins  to  come  to  her 
rescue. 

"Cowards!    Cowards!    I  hate  you  all " 

"Better  let  her  go,"  whispered  Judith,  who  knew  better 
than  her  Chief  what  Christian's  storms  meant. 

Richard  hesitated,  and,  as  in  a  mediaeval  romance,  at  this 
moment  a  champion  materialised. 

Not  the  Twins,  lying  like  leopards  along  the  higher  boughs 
of  a  neighbouring  alder,  deeply  enjoying  the  spectacle,  but 
a  boy,  smaller  than  Richard,  who  came  crashing  through 
the  bushes  on  the  Coppinger's  Court  side  of  the  Ownashee. 
Arrived  at  the  ford,  he  stayed  neither  his  pace  nor  his  stride, 
and  before  the  Eldest  Statesman,  much  hampered  by  his 
prisoner  and  the  bucket,  could  put  up  any  sort  of  defence, 
the  unknown  rescuer  had  sprung  across  the  stepping-stones, 
and,  catching  him  by  the  shoulders,  had,  by  sheer  force  of 
speed  and  surprise,  hurled  him  into  the  river. 

Thus  did  Larry  Coppinger,  informally  but  effectively, 
introduce  himself  to  his  second-cousins,  the  Talbot-Lowrys. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  FORTNIGHT  or  so  after  the  moving  incidents  that  have  j 
been  recited,  Miss  Frederica  Coppinger,  and  her  nephew, 
St.  Lawrence  of  that  ilk,  were  spending  a  long  and  agreeable 
Sunday  afternoon  with  their  relatives  at  Mount  Music, 
elders  and  youngsters  being  segregated,  after  their  kind,  and 
to  their  mutual  happiness. 

Major  Talbot-Lowry,  very  well  pleased  with  himself,  very 
tall  and  authoritative,  was  standing,  from  force  of  habit, 
on  the  rug  in  front  of  the  fire-place  in  the  Mount  Music 
drawing-room,  and  was  cross-examining  Miss  Coppinger  on 
her  proposed  arrangements  for  herself  and  her  nephew,  while 
he  drank  his  tea  in  gulps,  each  succeeded  by  burnishing 
processes,  with  a  brilliant  silk  bandanna  handkerchief,  such 
as  are  necessitated  by  a  long  and  drooping  moustache. 

All  good-looking  people  are  aware  of  their  good  looks, 
but  the  gift  of  enjoying  them,  that  had  been  lavishly  bestowed 
on  Dick,  is  denied  to  many;  on  the  other  hand,  the  companion 
gift,  of  realising  when  they  are  becoming  pleasures  of  mem- 
ory, had  been  withheld  from  him.  Dick  was  of  the  happy 
temperament  that  believes  in  the  exclusive  immortality  of  his 
own  charms,  and  he  was  now  enjoying  his  conversation  with 
his  cousin  none  the  less  for  the  discovery  that  Miss  Coppinger, 
who  was  younger  than  he,  had  preserved  her  youth  very 
much  less  successfully  than  he  had  done. 

The  cross-examination  had  moved  on  to  the  subject  of 
Larry's  religion,  and  the  combative  fervour  of  Major  Dick's 
Protestantism  might  have  edified  John  Knox. 

"But  look  here,  Frederica,"  he  said,  putting  down  his  cup 
and  saucer,  with  a  crash,  on  the  high  mantelpiece,  "you  don't 


MOUNT  MUSIC  25 

mean  to  tell  me  that  the  boy  has  to  go  to  Mass  with  the 
servants — on  the  cook's  lap,  I  suppose — on  the  outside  car! 
Good  Heeavens!  Poor  old  Tom!  Talk  about  turning  in 
his  grave!  I  should  think  he  was  going  head  over  heels  in 
it  by  this  time!" 

This  referred  to  the  late  Colonel  Coppinger,  the  genuine- 
ness of  whose  conversion  to  his  wife's  Church  had  never 
been  accepted  by  Major  Talbot-Lowry. 

"My  dear  Dick!"  said  Lady  Isabel. 

Miss  Coppinger  closed  her  lips  tightly  with  an  air  of  high 
self-control. 

"That  is  a  matter  of  opinion!"  she  said  blandly.  "Tom 
was  perfectly  aware  of  what  changing  his  religion  involved, 
in  this  country — though  it's  probably  quite  different  in  India. 
In  any  case,  the  thing  is  done,  and  as  I  believe  it  to  be  my 
Duty  to  send  Larry  to  his  chapel,  to  his  chapel  he  shall  go !" 

Unimaginative  people,  or  those  of  limited  vocabulary, 
affixed  to  Miss  Coppinger  the  ancient  label:  "A  typical  old 
maid,"  and  considered  that  no  further  definition  was  re- 
quired; and,  since  her  appearance  conformed  in  some  degree 
with  stage  traditions,  there  is  something  to  be  said  for  them. 
If  labels  are  to  be  employed,  even  the  least  complex  of  human 
beings  would  suggest  a  much-travelled  portmanteau,  covered 
with  tags  and  shreds  from  hotels  and  railways.  Frederica 
shall  not  be  labelled;  let  it  suffice  to  say  that  she  was  tall 
and  thin,  and  nearer  fifty  than  forty  (which  was  a  far  greater 
age  thirty  years  ago  than  it  is  now),  and  that  she  had  a 
sense  of  fair  play  that  was  proof  against  her  zeal  as  an  Irish 
Church-woman.  It  is  true  that  she  mentioned  what  she 
regarded  as  the  disaster  of  Larry's  religion  in  her  prayers, 
but  she  did  so  without  heat,  leaving  the  matter,  without 
irreverence,  to  the  common  sense  of  Larry's  Creator,  who, 
she  felt  must  surely  recognise  the  disadvantages  of  the  posi- 
tion as  it  stood. 

"I  cannot  possibly  interfere  with  Larry's  religion,"  pur- 
sued Miss  Coppinger,  with  a  defiant  eye  on  her  cousin,  "and 
as  soon  as  we  are  a  little  more  settled  down  I  shall  ask  the 


26  MOUNT  MUSIC 

priest  to  lunch.  Farther  than  that  I  don't  feel  called  upon 
to  go." 

"Draw  the  line  at  dinner,  eh?"  said  Major  Dick,  with 
large  and  humorous  tolerance:  "/  know  very  little  about 
the  feller — he's  newly  come  to  the  parish — he  mayn't  be  a 
bad  sort  for  all  I  know — I'm  bound  to  say  he's  got  a  black- 
muzzled  look  about  him,  but  we  might  go  farther  and  fare 
worse.  I  should  certainly  have  him  to  lunch  if  I  were  you. 
Have  a  good  big  joint  of  roast  beef,  and  don't  forget  to  give 
him  his  whack  of  whisky !" 

"I  never  have  whisky  in  the  house,"  said  Miss  Coppinger 
repressively.  "Claret,  I  could  give  him ?" 

Major  Talbot-Lowry  looked  down  at  his  cousin  with  the 
condescending  amusement  that  he  felt  to  be  the  meed  of 
female  godliness  especially  when  allied  with  temperance 
principles. 

"Well,  claret  might  do  for  once  in  a  way,"  he  conceded, 
shaking  his  long  legs  to  take  the  creases  out  of  his  trousers, 
"and  you  mightn't  find  Father  Sweeny  so  anxious  to  repeat 
the  dose — and  that  mightn't  be  any  harm  either!  I  daresay 
you  wouldn't  object  to  that,  Frederica!  Well,  good-bye, 
ladies!  I'm  going  down  to  the  kennels " 

Lady  Isabel's  and  Miss  Coppinger's  eyes  followed  him,  33 
he  swung,  with  that  light  halt  in  his  leisurely  stride,  down 
the  long  drawing-room,  trolling  in  the  high  baritone,  that 
someone  had  pleased  him  by  likening  to  a  cavalry  trumpet, 

"Oh,  Father  McCann  was  a  beautiful  man, 

But  a  bit  of  a  rogue,  a  bit  of  a  rogue! 
He  was  full  six  feet  high,  he'd  a  cast  in  his  eye, 
And  an  illigant  brogue,  an  illigant  brogue!" 

In  both  his  wife's  and  his  cousin's  faces  was  the  same  look, 
the  look  that  often  comes  into  women's  faces  when,  unper- 
ceived,  they  regard  the  sovereign  creature.  Future  gene- 
rations may  not  know  that  look,  but  in  the  faces  of  these 
women,  born  in  the  earlier  half  of  the  nineteenth  century, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  27 

there  was  something  of  awe,  and  of  indulgence,  of  appre- 
hension, and  of  pity.  Dick  was  so  powerful,  so  blundering, 
so  childlike.  Miss  Frederica  expressed  something  of  their 
common  thought  when  she  said : 

"Dick  seems  to  forget  that  he  is  Larry's  guardian  as  well 
as  I.  Also  that  Larry  is  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  it  is  not 
only  useless  but  dishonourable  to  ignore  it!" 

It  has  been  said  that  Lady  Isabel  had  les  qualities  de  ses 
defauts;  in  Miss  Coppinger's  case  the  words  may  be  restored 
to  their  rightful  sequence.  She  had  the  inevitable  defauts 
de  ses  qualites.  The  sense  of  duty  was  as  prominent  a  feature 
of  her  soul  as  a  hump  on  her  long  straight  back  would  have 
been,  but  toleration  was  inconspicuous.  She  ran  straight 
herself,  and  though  she  could  forgive  deviations  on  the  part 
of  others,  she  could  not  forget  them.  She  was  entirely  and 
implacably  Protestant,  a  typical  member  of  that  Church  that 
expects  friendship  from  its  votaries,  b.'.t  leaves  their  course 
of  action  to  their  own  consciences.  It  was  a  very  successful 
example  of  the  malign  humour  of  Fate  that  Miss  Coppinger's 
ward  should  belong  to  the  other  Church,  that  exacts  not 
only  obedience,  but  passion,  and  it  was  a  master-stroke  that 
Frederica's  sense  of  duty  should  compel  her  to  enforce  her 
nephew  to  compliance  with  its  demands. 

"Dear  Frederica,  Dick  will  leave  all  religious  things  to 

you,  I  know "  warbled  Lady  Isabel,  in  her  gentle,  musical 

voice,  that  suggested  something  between  the  tones  of  a  wood 
pigeon  and  an  ocarina.  "And  :hey  couldn't  be  in  better 
hands!" 

"But  my  dear  Isabel,  that  is  precisely  what  I  complain  of! 
Dick's  solitary  suggestion  has  been  that  we  should  send  Larry 
to  Winchester,  which  is  perfectly  impracticable!  I 
entirely  agree  with  him,  but,  unfortunately,  I  know  that  it 

is  our  duty  to  send  him  to  one  of  those "  Miss  Cop- 

pinger  hesitated,  swallowed  several  adjectives,  and  ended  with 
Christian  lameness — "one  of  those  special  schools  for 
Roman  Catholics." 

"Well,  dear,  I  daresay  it  won't  make  very  much  differ- 


28  MOUNT  MUSIC 

ence,"  consoled  Lady  Isabel.  "I  have  always  heard  that 
Monkshurst  was  a  charming  school,  and  dear  Larry  will  be 
jo  well  off — I  don't  suppose  his  religion  will  interfere  in  any 
way.  It  seldom  does,  does  it?" 

"Not,  I  admit,  unless  he  wanted  a  job  in  this  country!" 
began  Miss  Coppinger  grimly,  and  again  remembered  that 
intolerance  was  not  to  be  encouraged.  "The  end  of  it  is 
that  I  shall  endeavour  to  do  my  duty — which  is,  apparently, 
to  do  everything  that  I  most  entirely  disapprove  oi — and 
that  on  the  day  Larry  is  twenty-one,  I  shall  march  out  of 
Coppinger's  Court,  and  dance  a  jig,  and  then  he  may  have 
the  Pope  to  stay  with  him  if  he  likes!" 

While  Miss  Coppinger  was  thus  belabouring  and  releasing 
her  conscience  in  the  drawing-room,  quite  another  matter 
was  engaging  the  attention  of  her  ward,  and  of  his  enter- 
tainers at  the  school-room  tea-table.  This  was  no  less  a 
thing  than  the  dissolving  of  the  existing  Bands,  and  the  for- 
mation of  a  new  society,  to  be  known  as  "The  Companions 
of  Finn." 

Larry  Coppinger's  entrance,  literally  at  a  bound,  into 
the  Talbot-Lowry  family  group,  had  landed  him,  singularly 
enough,  into  the  heart  of  their  affection  and  esteem.  He 
was  now  the  originator  of  this  revolutionary  scheme,  and 
having  in  him  that  special  magnetic  force  that  confers  lead- 
ership, the  scheme  was  being  put  through. 

"The  point  is,"  h,  said,  eagerly,  'that  wh"n  we  are  split 
up  into  two  bands,  we  can  do  nothing  much,  .ut  the  lot  of 
us  together  might — might  make  quite  a  difference." 

"Difference  to  what?"  said  Richard,  ex-chief  of  the  Elder 
Statesmen,  unsympathetically.  Like  his  father  before  him, 
he  disliked  change. 

"Well,  hold  on!"  said  Larry,  quickly,  "wait  just  one 
minute,  and  I'll  tell  you.  I  got  the  notion  out  of  a  book  I 
found  in  the  library.  I  don't  expect  I'd  have  thought  of 

it  myself "  Larry's  transparent  sky-blue  eyes  nought 

Richard's  appealingly.  "It's — it's  only  poems,  you  know,  but 
it's  most  frightfully  interesting — I  brought  it  with  me " 


MOUNT  MUSIC  29 

"Oh — poems!"  said  Richard,  without  enthusiasm.  "Arc 
they  long  ones?" 

"I  don't  seem  to  care  so  awfully  much  about  poetry," 
abetted  Judith,  late  Second-in-command. 

John  looked  sapient,  and  said,  neutrally,  that  some  poetry 
wasn't  bad. 

The  Twins,  who  were  engaged  in  a  silent  but  bitter 
struggle  for  the  corpse  of  a  white  rabbit,  recently  born  dead, 
made  no  comment.  Only  Christian,  her  small  hands  clenched 
together  into  a  brown  knot,  her  eyes  fastened  on  Larry's 
flushed  face,  murmured: 

"Goon,  Larry!" 

Larry  went  on. 

"It's  called  the  Spirit  of  the  Nation,"  he  said.  "It's  full 
of  splendid  stuff  about  Ireland,  and  the  beastly  way  Eng- 
land's treated  her.  It  sort  of — sort  of  put  the  notion  into 
my  head  that  we  might  start  some  sort  of  a  Fenian  band, 
and  that  some  day  we  might — well,"  he  turned  very  red, 
and  ended  with  a  rush,  "we  might  be  able  to  strike  a  blow 
for  Ireland!" 

"Moy  oye!"  said  Richard,  intensifying  his  favourite  invo- 
cation in  his  surprise,  "but  what's  wrong  with  Ireland?" 

The  position  wanted  but  the  touch  of  opposition.  Larry 
rather  well  bet  Richard  that  there  was  plenty  wrong  with 
her!  Penal  laws!  Persecution!  Saxon  despots  grinding 
their  heels  into  a  down-trodden  people!  Revolution! 
Liberation!  Larry  had  a  tongue  that  was  hung  loosely  in 
his  head  and  was  a  quick  servant  to  his  brain. 

"Of  course  I  know  we're  rather  young — well,  you're  nearly 
fourteen,  Richard,  and  I'm  thirteen  and  three  months,  that's 
not  so  awfully  young.  Anyway,  everything's  got  to  have  a 

beginning "  He  glowed  upon  his  audience  of  six,  his 

fair  hair  in  a  shock,  his  eyes  and  his  cheeks  in  a  blaze,  and 
one,  at  least,  of  that  audience  caught  fire. 

The  Revolutionary  or  Reformer,  who  hesitates  at  becoming 
a  bore,  is  unworthy  of  his  high  office;  and  Larry,  like  most 
of  his  class,  required  but  little  encouragement.  He  produced 


30  MOUNT  MUSIC 

a  large  book,  old  and  shabby,  the  green  and  gold  of  its 
covers  stained  and  faded,  but  still  of  impressive  aspect. 

"There  are  heaps  of  them,  and  they're  all  jolly  good.  It's 

rather  hard  to  choose "  began  the  Revolutionary  with  a 

shade  of  nervousness.  Then  he  again  met  Christian's  eyes, 
shining  and  compelling,  and  took  heart  from  them. 

"Well,  there's  'Fontenoy,'  of  course  that's  a  ripper — 
Well,  I  don't  know  what  you'll  all  think,  but  /  think  this  is 
a  jolly  good  one,"  he  said  with  a  renewal  of  defiance,  and 
began  to  read,  at  first  hurriedly,  but  gathering  confidence  and 
excitement  as  he  went  on: 

"Did  they  dare,  did  they  dare,  to  slay  Owen  Roe  O'Neill? 
Yes,  they  slew  with  poison,  him  they  feared  to  meet  with 

steel. 
May  God  wither  up  their  hearts!     May  their  blood  cease 

to  flow! 

May  they  walk  in  living  death,  who  poisoned  Owen  Roe! 
We  thought  you  would  not  die — we  were  sure  you  would 

not  go, 

And  leave  us  in  our  utmost  need  to  Cromwell's  cruel  blow — 
Sheep  without  a  shepherd,  when  the  snow  shuts  out  the  sky — 
Oh !  Why  did  you  leave  us,  Owen  ?  Why  did  you  die  ?" 

The  Elder  Statesmen  listened  in  critical  silence,  while 
Larry,  not  without  stumbles,  stormed  on  through  the  eight 
verses  of  the  poem.  When  he  had  finished  it,  there  was  a 
pause.  The  audience  was  impressed,  even  though  they  had 
no  intention  of  admitting  the  fact.  Christian  gave  a  tre- 
mendous sigh.  The  contest  for  the  defunct  rabbit,  that  had 
been  arrested,  broke  out  again,  fiercely,  but  with  caution. 
Then  Richard  said,  dubiously: 

"Well,  that's  all  right,  Larry — I  meant  it's  jolly  sad,  and 
awfully  good  poetry,  I'm  sure — but  how  on  earth  are  you 
going  to  work  a  show  out  of  it?  I  can't  see " 

"Unless,"  interrupted  Judith,  thoughtfully,  "unless  we 
sort  of  acted  it ?" 


MOUNT  MUSIC  31 

John,  who  loved  "dressing  up,"  woke  to  life;  even  Richard 
began  to  see  daylight. 

"That's  not  a  bad  notion,  Judy!"  he  said  briskly:  "bags 
I  Cromwell!  Larry,  you  can  be  Owen  what's-his-name." 

Larry  came  down  like  a  shot  bird  from  the  sphere  of 
romance  to  which  the  poem  had  borne  him. 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  any  scheme,"  he  said,  pulling  himself 
together;  "I  only  wanted  to  give  you  a  kind  of  notion  of 
the  rotten  way  England's  always  treated  Ireland " 

"But  let's!"  cried  Christian;  "let's  act  the  whole  book!" 

Truisms  are  of  their  essence  dull,  but  they  must  some- 
times be  submitted  to,  and  the  truism  as  to  a  book's  possible 
influence  on  the  young  and  impressionable  cannot  here  be 
avoided.  What  it  is  that  decides  if  the  book  is  to  stamp 
itself  on  the  plastic  mind,  or  if  the  mind  is  to  assert  itself 
and  stamp  on  the  book,  is  a  detail  that  admits  less  easily  of 
dogmatism.  The  Companionage  of  Finn  remained  in  being 
for  but  two  periods  of  holiday.  Before  the  boys  had  returned 
to  school,  it  had  seen  its  best  days;  the  scheme  for  an  armed 
invasion  of  England  had  been  abandoned,  even  the  more 
matured  project  of  storming  Dublin  Castle  was  set  aside; 
by  the  end  of  the  Christmas  holidays  it  had  been  formally 
dissolved. 

It  is  not  easy  to  understand,  it  is  still  harder  to  explain 
what  it  was  in  those  fierce  denunciations  and  complaints, 
outcome  of  that  time  of  general  revolt,  the  "Roaring  Forties" 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  that  made  them  echo  in  Larry's 
heart,  nor  why  the  restless,  passionate  spirit  that  inspired 
them  should  have  remained  with  him,  a  perturbing  influence 
from  which  he  never  wholly  escaped.  His  young  soul 
burned  with  hatred  of  England,  borrowed  from  the  Bards  of 
"The  Nation"  Office;  he  lay  awake  at  nights,  stringing 
rhymes  in  emulation  of  their  shouts  of  fury,  or  picturing 
rebellions,  of  which  he  was  to  be  the  leader  and  hero.  Larry's 
enthusiasms  were  wont  to  devour  not  him  only,  but  also  his 
friends.  It  is  impossible  to  escape  from  the  conclusion  that 
the  career  of  the  Companionage  of  Finn  was  abbreviated  by 


32  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Larry's  determination  to  recite  to  the  Companions  of  the 
Order,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  the  poems  by  which, 
during  his  first  Irish  summer,  he  was  possessed.  There  came 
a  time  when  he  had,  as  he  believed,  put  away  childish  things, 
that,  returning  to  these  venerable  trumpet-blasts,  he  asked 
himself,  in  the  arrogance  of  youth,  how  these  stale  meta- 
phors, these  conventional  phrases,  these  decorations  as  mere- 
tricious as  stage  jewellry,  and  metres  that  cantered  along,  as 
he  told  himself,  like  solemn  old  circus-horses,  could  have  had 
the  power  to  shake  his  voice  and  fill  his  eyes  with  tears,  as 
he  spoke  them  to  Christian,  who  had  so  soon  become  his  sole 
audience. 

The  strange  thing  was,  as  he  acknowledged  to  himself, 
that  while  he  could  mock  at  them  as  poetry,  he  could  not 
ignore  their  power.  The  intensity  of  their  hatred,  and  of 
their  sincerity,  made  itself  felt,  as  the  light  of  the  sun  will 
shine  through  the  crude  commonness  of  a  vulgar  stained- 
glass  window. 


CHAPTER  V 

THERE  was  one  person  who  viewed  the  enthusiastic  intimacy 
that  had  sprung  up  between  the  houses  of  Coppinger  and 
Talbot-Lowry,  with  a  disapproval  as  deep  as  it  was  preju- 
diced. It  was  a  person  whose  opinion  might,  by  the  thought- 
less, be  considered  unimportant,  but  in  this  the  thoughtless 
would  greatly  err.  Robert  Evans  was  the  butler  at  Mount 
Music.  He  had  held  that  position  since  the  year  1859,  from 
which  statement  a  brief  and  unexacting  calculation  will 
establish  the  fact  that  he  had  taken  office  when  his  present 
master  was  no  more  than  twenty-one  years  old  and,  it  being 
now  1894,  he  had  so  continued  for  35  years.  Possibly  a 
vision  of  an  adoring  and  devoted  retainer  may  here  present 
itself.  If  so,  it  must  be  immediately  dispelled.  In  Mr. 
Evans'  opinion,  such  devotion  and  adoration  as  the  case  de- 
manded, were  owed  to  him  by  the  House  on  which  he  had 
for  so  long  a  time  bestowed  the  boon  of  his  presence,  and 
those  who  were  privileged  with  his  acquaintance  had  no 
uncertainty  in  the  matter,  since  his  age,  his  length  of  service, 
his  fidelity,  and  the  difficulties  with  which  he  daily  contended, 
formed  the  main  subjects  of  his  conversation. 

In  the  palmier  days  of  the  Irish  gentry  there  were  many 
households  in  which  the  religion  of  the  servants  was  a  matter 
of  considerable  importance,  and  those  who  could  afford 
exclusiveness,  were  accustomed  to  employ  only  Protestants 
as  indoor  servants.  This  may  seem  like  an  unwarrantable 
invasion  of  the  inner  fortress  of  another  individual,  making 
his  views  spiritual  responsible  for  his  fortunes  temporal. 
But  in  Ireland,  in  the  earlier  half  of  the  troubled  nineteenth 
century,  such  differentiation  was  inspired  not  by  bigotry, 

33 


34  MOUNT  MUSIC 

but  by  fear.  When  a  man's  foes  might  be,  and  often  were, 
those  of  his  own  household,  that  his  servants  should  be  of 
his  own  religion  was  almost  his  only  safeguard  against 
espionage.  There  is  somewhat  to  be  said  on  both  sides;  it 
will  not  be  said  here,  but  that  there  have  been  times  in  Ire- 
land when  such  precautions  were  required,  cannot  be  ignored. 

Robert  Evans  was  a  survivor  of  such  a  period.  Time  was 
when  he  strutted,  autocratic  and  imperious  as  a  turkey-cock, 
ruler  of  a  flock  of  lesser  fowl,  all  of  his  own  superior  creed ; 
brave  days  when  he  and  Mrs.  Dixon,  the  housekeeper, 
herded  and  headed,  respectively,  a  bevy  of  "decent  Protes- 
tant maids"  into  Family  Prayers  every  morning,  and  packed 
"the  full  of  two  covered  cars"  off  to  the  Knockceoil  Parish 
Church  on  Sundays.  Evans  rarely  went  to  church,  believing 
that  such  disciplines  were  superfluous  for  one  in  a  state  of 
grace,  but  the  glory  of  the  House  of  Talbot-Lowry  demanded 
a  full  and  rustling  pew  of  female  domestics,  while  the  coach- 
man, and  a  footman  or  a  groom,  were  generally  to^be  relied 
on  to  give  a  masculine  stiffening  to  the  party.  With  Lady 
Isabel's  regime  had  come  a  slackening  of  moral  fibre,  a  culp- 
able setting  of  attainments,  or  of  convenience,  above  creed, 
in  the  administration  of  the  household.  Once  had  Lady 
Isabel  been  actually  overheard  by  Evans,  offering  to  a  friend, 
in  excuse  for  the  indifferent  show  made  by  her  household 
in  the  parish  church,'  the  offensive  explanation  that  "R.C.'s 
were  so  sympathetic,  and  so  easy  to  find,  while  Protestants 
were  not  only  scarce,  but  were  so  proud  of  being  Protestants, 
and  expected  so  much  admiration" — here  she  had  perceived 
the  presence  of  Evans,  and  had  unavailingly  begun  upon  the 
weather,  but  Evans'  deep-seated  suspicions  as  to  the  laxity 
of  the  English  Church  had  been  confirmed. 

It  is  possible  that  the  greatest  shock  that  Evans  was  capable 
of  sustaining  was  administered  when  he  heard  of  the  seces- 
sion to  the  enemy  of  Colonel  Tom  Coppinger.  Only  second 
to  it  was  the  discovery  that  Colonel  Tom's  poisoned  offspring 
was  to  be  received  at  Mount  Music  and  admitted  to  the 
fellowship  of  its  children. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  35 

"No!"  Evans  said  to  Mrs.  Dixon,  standing  on  the  hearth- 
rug in  the  sanctuary  of  the  housekeeper's  room,  one  wet 
afternoon,  shortly  after  the  Coppinger  return :  "I  see  changes 
here,  better  and  worse,  good  and  bad,  but  I  didn't  think  I'd 
live  to  see  what  I  seen  to-day — the  children  of  this  house 
consorting  with  a  Papist!" 

"Fie!"  said  Mrs.  Dixon,  without  conviction.  She  was 
fat  and  easy-tempered,  and  though  ever  anxious  to  conciliate 
him  whom  she  respected  and  feared  as  "Mr.  Eevans,"  her 
powers  of  dissimulation  often  failed  at  a  pinch  of  this  kind. 

Mr.  Evans  looked  at  his  table-companion  with  a  contempt 
to  which  she  had  long  been  resigned.  He  was  a  short,  thin, 
bald  man,  with  a  sharp  nose  curved  like  a  reaping-hook, 
iron-grey  whiskers  and  hair,  and  fierce  pale  blue  eyes.  Later 
on,  Christian,  in  the  pride  of  her  first  introduction  to  Tenny- 
son, had  been  inspired  by  his  high  shoulders  and  black  tailed 
coat  to  entitle  him  "The  many-wintered  crow,"  and  the  name 
was  welcomed  by  her  fellows,  and  registered  in  the  repository 
of  phrases  and  nicknames  that  exists  in  all  well-regulated 
families. 

"Tie!"'  he  repeated  after  Mrs.  Dixon,  witheringly.  "I 
declare  before  God,  Mrs.  Dixon,  if  I  was  to  tell  you  the 
Pope  o'  Rome  was  coming  to  dinner  next  Sunday,  it's  all 
you'd  say  would  be  Tie !'  " 

Mrs.  Dixon  received  this  supposition  of  catastrophe  with 
annoying  calm,  and  even  reverted  to  Mr.  Evans'  earlier  state- 
ment in  a  manner  that  might  have  bewildered  a  less  experi- 
enced disputant  than  he. 

"Well,  indeed,  Mr.  Eevans,"  she  said,  appeasingly,  "I'd 
say  he  was  a  nice  child  enough,  and  the  very  dead  spit  of  the 
poor  Colonel.  I  dunno  what  harm  he  could  do  the  children 
at  all?" 

The  Prophet  Samuel  could  scarcely  have  regarded  Saul, 
when  he  offered  those  ill-fated  apologies  relative  to  King 
Agag,  with  a  more  sinister  disfavour  than  did  Evans  view 
Mrs.  Dixon. 

"I'll  say  one  thing  to  you,  Mrs.  Dixon,"  he  said,  moving 


36  MOUNT  MUSIC 

to  the  door  with  that  laborious  shuffle  that  had  inspired  one 
of  the  hunted  and  suffering  tribe  of  his  pantry-boys  to  the 
ejaculation:  "I  thank  God,  there's  more  in  his  boots  than 
what's  there  room  for!" — "and  I'll  say  it  once,  and  that's 
enough !  As  sure  as  God  made  little  apples,  trouble  and  dis- 
grace will  follow  jumpers!" 

Mrs.  Dixon,  no  less  than  Evans,  disapproved  of  those  who 
changed  their  religion,  but  this  denunciation  did  not  seem  to 
her  to  apply. 

"That  poor  child's  no  jumper!"  she  called  after  her  an- 
tagonist; "  'twasn't  his  fault  he  was  born  the  way  he  was!" 

Evans  slammed  the  door. 

Mrs.  Dixon  dismissed  the  controversy  from  her  easy  mind, 
looked  at  the  clock,  and  laid  down  her  knitting. 

"Miss  Christian'll  be  looking  for  her  birthday  cake!"  she 
said  to  herself,  hoisting  her  large  person  from  her  chair.  Even 
as  she  did  so,  there  came  a  rapping,  quick  and  urgent,  at 
the  window.  "Look  at  that  now!"  said  Mrs.  Dixon.  "I 
wouldn't  doubt  that  child  to  be  wanting  the  world  in  her 
pocket  before  it  was  made!" 

"Dixie!  Dixie!  Open  the  window!  Hurry!  I  want 
you!" 

Christian's  face,  surmounted  by  a  very  old  hunting-cap, 
and  decorated  with  a  corked  moustache,  appeared  at  the 
window. 

"The  Lord  save  us,  child !  What  have  you  done  to  your- 
self? And  what  are  you  doing  out  there  in  the  wet?" 
answered  Mrs.  Dixon,  reprovingly;  "sure  the  cake  won't 
be  baked  for  ten  minutes  yet." 

"I  don't  want  the  cake.  I  only  want  some  biscuits,  please. 
Dixie,  and  hurry!  Amazon's  bolted,  and  Cottingham's 
asked  me  to  catch  her!  If  you  had  a  bone,  Dixie,  she'd 
simply " 

Mrs.  Dixon  was  gone.  She  disapproved  exceedingly  of 
Christian's  role  as  kennel-boy,  but  as,  since  Christian's  first 
birthday,  she  had  never  refused  her  anything,  she  was  not 
prepared  on  her  tenth  to  break  so  well-established  a  habit. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  37 

"I  dunno  in  the  world  why  Mr.  Cottingharri  should  make 
a  young  lady  like  you  do  his  business!"  she  said,  putting  the 
requisition  bait  into  Christian's  eager,  up-stretched  hands, 
"and  if  your  Mamma  could  see  you " 

"Oh,  well  done,  Dixie!  What  a  lovely  bone!  Oh,  thank 
you  most  awfully!"  interrupted  Christian,  snatching  at  the 
danties  provided,  and  flitting  away  through  the  grey  veils 
of  the  rain,  a  preposterous  little  figure,  clad  in  a  ragged 
kennel-coat,  that  had  been  long  since  discarded  by  the  hunts- 
man, a  pair  of  couples  slung  round  her  neck,  and  a  crop  in 
her  hand. 

It  was  a  chilly,  wet  August  afternoon.  It  had  rained  for 
the  past  three  days,  and  was,  by  all  appearances,  prepared 
to  continue  to  do  so  for  three  more.  Christian  ran  across 
the  fields  to  the  kennels,  regardless  of  wet  overhead  or  under- 
foot, and  oblivious  of  the  corked  moustache,  which  ran  too, 
almost  as  fast  as  she  did.  She  had  made  a  detour  to  avoid 
the  schoolroom  windows.  Her  birthday  party  was  toward, 
and  charades  (accounting  for  her  moustache)  were  in  full 
swing.  But  the  message  from  Cottingham,  secretly  conveyed 
together  with  the  couples,  by  the  pantry  boy,  transcended  in 
importance  all  other  human  affairs.  She  had  slipped  away 
from  her  fellows,  and  having  endured  the  hunting  cap  and 
the  kennel  coat,  as  the  wear  suitable  to  such  an  occasion,  she 
had  not  lost  a  minute  in  coming  to  the  horn. 

Cottingham,  Major  Talbot-Lowry's  First  Whip  and  ken- 
nel huntsman,  a  single-souled  little  Devonshire  man,  whose 
dyed  hair  was  the  solitary  indication  of  the  age  it  was  in- 
tended to  conceal,  awaited  her  outside  the  kennels. 

"Well,  Missie,  I  knew  you'd  come,"  he  said,  approvingly. 
"It's  Amazon  that's  away — that  little  badger-pye  bitch  we 
got  last  week — I  'ad  to  give  'er  a  bit  of  a  'iding — she  tried 
to  run  a  sheep  when  we  was  walkin'  out  last  evening — 
she's  a  rewengeful  sort,  she  is,  and  very  artful,  and  when  we 
gets  near  kennels,  her  took  an'  bolted  past  Jimmy  over  the 
'ill,  an'  I  says  to  Jimmy,  'Why  you  fool'  I  says " 

The  tale  continued  at  length,  and  with  those  repetitions 


38  MOUNT  MUSIC 

and  recapitulations  peculiar  to  the  simple,  but  by  no  mcani 
short  annals  of  the  poor,  and  especially  of  the  English  poor. 
Yet,  Christian,  the  impatient,  the  ardent,  stood  and  listened 
with  respectful  and  absorbed  interest.  Cottingham  might 
be  elderly,  egotistic,  long-winded,  but  at  this  period  of  her 
career,  Christian's  hot  heart  beat  throb  for  throb  with  his, 
and  the  thought,  as  he  said,  of  "that  pore  little  bitch  stoppin* 
out,  and  maybe  spoilt,  so  that  there'd  be  nothin'  for  us  but 
to  shoot  her,  through  learnin*  to  run  sheep,"  had  precisely 
the  same  horror  for  her  as  for  him. 

"I  couldn't,  so  to  speak,  lay  me  'and  on  'er  now;  her 
wouldn't  let  me  go  anear  'er,  nor  she  wouldn't  let  Jimmy 
neither,  but  she  ain't  far  away,  and  she'd  'ave  what  I  might 

call  cawnfidence  in  you,  Missie "  Cottingham  had  at 

length  concluded:  "Her's  that  sly  we  mightn't  never  see 
'er  again!  But  you  take  and  go  up  that  'ill,  Missie,  that's 
where  I  seen  'er  last,  I'll  lay  you  get  'er  if  anyone  can!" 

Christian,  "still,"  as  Rossetti  says,  "with  the  whole  of 
pleasure,"  received  these  instructions  reverently,  and  with 
the  pockets  of  the  kennel-coat  further  loaded  with  broken 
biscuit,  "took  and  went"  according  to  instructions.  She 
climbed  the  fence  behind  the  kennels,  and  addressed  herself 
lightly  to  the  ascent  of  the  hill.  It  was  a  long  hill,  that  began 
with  pasture  fields,  that  were  merged  imperceptibly  into 
moorland,  heather  and  furze.  There  were  sheep,  and  donkeys 
and  goats  on  it,  and  a  melancholy  old  kennel-horse  or  two, 
all  feeding  peacefully.  Amazon  could  not  be  accused  in  con- 
nection with  them,  so  Christian  reflected,  and  prepared  her- 
self to  rebut  any  such  slander.  The  rain  was  lighter,  and 
the  soaking  mist  that  had  all  day  filled  the  valley,  was  slowly 
thinning,  and  revealing  the  mighty  scroll  of  silver  that  was 
the  river,  while  the  woods  and  hillsides  came  and  went,  illu- 
sive as  the  grey  hints  of  landscape  in  a  Japanese  water-colour. 
But  at  the  mature  age  of  ten  years,  Christian  cared  for  none 
of  these  things.  She  saw  the  smoke  from  the  Mount  Music 
kitchen  chimney  blending  bluely  with  the  mist,  and  thought 
with  A  momentary  pang  of  the  birthday  cake.  She  wondered 


MOUNT  MUSIC  39 

if  the  Companions  of  Finn  would  so  far  forget  honour  and 
fidelity  as  to  devour  it  without  her.  She  thought  of  the  ten 
candles  that  would  gutter  to  their  end,  untended  by  the 
heroine  of  the  celebration ;  she  wondered  if  Cottingham  would 
tell  Papa,  and  if  Papa  would  tell  Mother  (thus  did  this 
child  of  the  'eighties  speak  of  her  parents,  the  musical  abbre- 
viations of  a  later  day,  "Mum,"  and  "Dad,"  not  having 
penetrated  the  remoteness  in  which  her  home  was  placed) ; 
she  also  wondered  if  there  would  be  a  row  about  ,ier  getting 
wet.  All  these  things  seemed  but  too  probable,  but  she  was 
in  for  it  now. 

Near  a  ridge  of  the  hill,  in  one  of  the  shallow  valleys  that 
furrowed,  like  ploughshares,  its  long  slant,  there  was  a  dol- 
men, three  huge  stones,  with  a  fourth  poised  on  it.  Their  grey 
brows  rose  over  the  billows  of  bracken,  and  briers,  laden 
with  the  promise  of  fruit,  made  garlands  for  their  ancient 
heads.  Christian's  straying  advance  brought  her  along  the 
lip  of  the  little  valley  in  which  they  reposed,  and  quite  sud- 
denly there  rose  in  her  the  conviction  that  her  quest  was 
nearing  success.  She  was  of  that  mysteriously-gifted  company 
to  whom  the  lairs  of  things  lost  are  revealed.  She  "found 
things" ;  she  was  "lucky."  She  was  regarded  by  the  servants 
as  one  enfolded  in  the  cloak  of  St.  Anthony,  that  inestimable 
saint,  whose  mission  it  is  to  find  and  protect  the  lost.  It  had 
become  a  household  habit  to  appeal  to  Christian  when  one 
of  every  day's  most  common  losses  occurred.  She  would 
hearken ;  her  little  thin  body  would  stiffen,  like  a  dog  setting 
his  game,  a  spark  would  light  in  her  brown  eyes,  and — 
how  led  who  can  say  ? — she  would  fly  like  a  wireless  message 
to  the  thing  sought  for. 

So  it  was  now,  on  the  f  urzy  side  of  Cnocan  an  Ceoil  Sidhe ; 
she  knew  that  the  moment  had  come.  She  sat  down  on  a 
ledge  of  rock,  and  waited,  throbbing  with  anticipation,  and 
had  not  long  to  wait.  A  brown  shadow  moved  in  the  bracken 
near  the  dolmen,  a  brown  face  peered  with  infinite  caution, 
round  a  flank  of  the  great  stones. 

"Yoop!  the  little  bitchie!"  said  Christian  to  the  horizon. 


40  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Christian  was  an  apt  scholar,  and  Cottingham's  tone  and 
idiom  were  alike  accurately  rendered. 

The  lady  thus  addressed  gazed  with  a  greater  intensity, 
but  did  not  move.  Christian  took  a  piece  of  dog-biscuit  from 
the  ragged  pocket  of  the  kennel-coat,  and,  still  walking  closely 
in  Cottingham's  steps,  bit  it,  ate  a  part  of  it,  and  carelessly 
flung  the  remainder  in  the  direction  of  the  shadow.  This 
stole  forth,  and,  having  snapped  up  the  biscuit,  sank  back 
into  the  covert.  Christian  did  not  move. 

"Amazon !"  she  crooned,  in  tones  in  which  a  doting  wood- 
pigeon  might  apostrophise  a  sickly  fledgling;  "Amazon,  my 
darling!" 

Another  piece  of  biscuit  accompanied  the  apostrophe,  and 
poor  Amazon,  who  was  indeed  very  lonely  and  very  hungry, 
capitulated,  and  came  sidling  up  to  the  charmer,  with  pro- 
pitiatory smiles,  and  deprecating  stern  wagging,  beneath  her, 
and  in  advance  of  her  hind  legs,  instead  of  above  her  and 
behind  them. 

"  'Olding  the  buckle  in  the  right  'and,"  said  Christian  to 
herself,  in  faithful  quotation  from  the  great  ensample,  as 
with  a  swiftness  and  decision  that  were  creditable  to  her 
training,  she  put  the  couples  on  Amazon. 

Then  she  produced  the  bone  that  had  been  "Dixie's" 
bright  achievement,  and  it  was  while,  in  contentment  and 
friendship,  Amazon  was  crunching  it,  that  Larry  Coppinger 
appeared. 

He  rose  from  behind  a  spur  of  rock  and  furze,  and  came 
towards  Christian. 

"Oh,  good  for  you!"  he  said,  admiringly,  "I  was  afraid 
to  show  up  till  you  had  got  her." 

Christian  was  not  sure  that  she  was  pleased  at  this  inter- 
vention. 

"How  did  you  know  where  I  was?" 

"The  servants  told  me  you  had  gone  to  the  kennels,  and 
Jimmy  showed  me  the  hill,  and  then  I  spotted  your  white 
coat — not  that  it's  so  awfully  white! — I  thought  it  was 
rather  rotten  to  let  you  go  alone." 


MOUNT  MUSIC  41 

"And  why  not,  pray?"  enquired  Christian,  haughtily. 
Male  assumption  of  the  duties  of  guardianship  was  a  thing 
she  found  highly  offensive;  "I  always  go  about  alone!" 

"Well,  I  wanted  to  come,  anyway,"  said  Larry,  with  a 
placating  grin.  "I  say,  that  is  an  awful  nice  dog!" 

"You  never  call  foxhounds  'dogs'!"  said  Christian,  still 
with  hauteur;  "Larry,  you  are  an  owl!" 

But  she  enjoyed  the  consciousness  of  knowing  more  than 
he  did ;  she  even  forgave  him  his  superfluousness.  She  thought 
it  was  rather  decent  of  him  to  have  come,  and  she  let  him 
lead  Amazon  for  a  part  of  the  way,  only  reserving  to  her- 
self the  entry  into  the  presence  of  Cottingham,  bringing  her 
sheaf  with  her. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ARE  childhood  and  youth  indeed  Vanity?  When  Christian 
looks  back  upon  her  childhood  at  Mount  Music,  it  seems  to 
her  that  the  World,  and  Life,  and  Time,  could  hardly  have 
bettered  it  for  her,  however  they  might  have  put  their  heads 
together  over  the  job. 

All  her  memories  are  steeped  in  sunlight.  It  was  all  fun 
and  fights,  and  strawberries  and  dogs,  and  donkey-riding, 
and  hot  evenings  on  the  big  river,  with  the  hum  of  flies  in 
her  ears,  and  Larry,  hailing  her  from  the  farther  bank  of  the 
Ownashee,  across  the  stepping-stones.  And  whenever  she 
thought  about  the  schoolroom,  it  was  always  warm  and  rather 
jolly,  especially  in  the  Christmas  holidays.  They  used  to 
have  drawing  competitions,  of  which  Larry  was,  of  course, 
the  promoter,  in  the  old  schoolroom,  during  the  long  winter 
evenings.  Larry  always  had  a  pencil  in  his  hand,  and  was 
renowned  as  an  artist  of  horses  and  hounds,  and  Finn's  wolf- 
dog,  Bran,  besides  wielding  a  biting  pen  as  a  caricaturist. 
Christian  could  only  compete  in  architectural  designs  that 
demanded  neatness  and  exactness,  but  Georgy,  the  elder 
twin,  had  some  skill  in  marine  subjects,  and,  since  he  was 
going  to  the  "Britannia,"  arrogated  to  himself  the  position 
of  being  an  authority  on  shipping;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that 
general  satisfaction  was  felt  when  he  was,  one  evening, 
worsted  by  Christian.  The  subject  selected  for  competition 
was  "A  Haunted  Ship." 

"Where  shall  I  put  the  ghost?"  Georgy  debated,  chewing 
the  end  of  his  pencil,  with  his  head  on  one  side. 

"In  the  shrouds,  of  course!"  said  Christian. 

"Funny  dog!"  sneered  Georgy,  who  considered  that  his 
artistic  efforts  were  no  fit  subject  for  jesting.  "You'd  better 
come  and  shove  in  one  of  your  Midianites  for  me!" 

4* 


MOUNT  MUSIC  43 

Then  Christian,  with  the  disconcerting  swiftness  of  action, 
mental  and  physical,  that  was  peculiarly  hers,  snatched,  in 
a  flash,  the  mug  of  painted-water  from  Larry's  elbow,  and 
poured  its  contents  over  Georgy's  fair  bullet-head;  with 
which,  and  with  a  triumphing  cry  (learnt  from  a  County 
Cork  kitchenmaid,  and  very  fashionable  in  the  schoolroom) 
of  "A-haadie!"  she  fled,  "lighter-footed  than  the  fox,"  and 
equally  subtle  and  daring. 

Christian  was  not  easily  roused  to  wrath,  but  when  this 
occurred,  youngest  of  the  party  though  she  was,  it  was  but 
rarely  that  victory  did  not  rest  with  her.  Two  subjects  were 
marked  dangerous  among  these  children,  during  the  com- 
bative years  of  "growing-up,"  and  were  therefore  specially 
popular;  of  these,  the  one  was  Christian's  reputed  occult 
power,  coupled  with  gibes  based  on  that  hymn  to  which 
reference  has  been  made;  the  other  was  Larry's  religion. 

To  the  Talbot-Lowry  children,  their  own  religion  was 
largely  a  matter  of  fetishes,  with  fluctuating  restrictions  as 
to  what  might  or  might  not  be  done  on  Sundays,  but  they 
found  Larry's  a  more  stimulating  subject.  It  was  impossible 
for  them  to  refrain  from  speculations  as  to  what  Larry  said 
when  he  went  to  confession;  equally  impossible  not  to  pro- 
pose to  the  prospective  penitent  an  assortment  of  sins  to  be 
avowed  at  his  next  shriving,  even  though  the  suggestions 
seldom  failed  to  provoke  conflict  of  the  intensity  usually 
associated  with  religious  warfare. 

Lady  Isabel,  confronted  with  these  problems,  fell  back  on 
the  manuals  of  her  own  youth,  with  their  artless  pronounce- 
ments on  the  Righteous,  the  Wicked,  their  qualifications, 
their  prospects;  and,  since  the  manuals  had  an  indisputable 
flair  for  the  subjects  most  likely  to  seize  the  attention  of  the 
young,  Lady  Isabel  was  generally  able  to  divert  her  off- 
spring's attention  from  the  Errors  of  Rome,  with  digested 
narratives  of  "Adamaneve"  (pronounced  as  one  word)  and 
the  Serpent,  Balaam's  Ass,  Jonah's  Whale,  and  similar  non- 
controversial  matters. 

"Wiser  people  than  you  and  me,  darlings,"  she  would  say, 


44  MOUNT  MUSIC 

with  a  slight  stagger  in  grammar,  but  none  in  orthodoxy, 
"have  explained  it  all  for  us " 

"Larry's  papa  and  mamma  didn't  quite  think  the  same  as 
we  do,  but  we  needn't  think  about  that,  my  pet!" 

"But,  mother,  Evans  says  that  the  Pope "  appalling 

prognostications  as  to  the  future  of  that  dignitary  would 
probably  follow. 

Unfortunate  Lady  Isabel!  But  parents  and  guardians 
have,  at  least,  the  power  of  the  closure. 

"We  needn't  talk  about  it  now,"  says  the  hard-pressed 
mother,  "when  you're  grown  up  you  will  understand  it  all 
better " 

With  Christian,  however,  this  formula  was  less  efficacious 
than  with  her  elder  brothers  and  sister.  Her  questioning, 
analysing,  unwearying  brain  ignored  the  closure,  and  evaded 
poor  Lady  Isabel's  evasions.  Her  religious  life  had  been 
singularly  vivacious,  and  the  scope  and  variety  of  the  petitions 
that  she  nightly  offered  caused  considerable  embarrassment 
to  her  mother.  What  was  any  good  Church  of  England,  or 
Ireland,  mamma  to  do  when  an  infant  of  four  years  implores 
its  Deity: 

"Make  me  to  have  a  good,  fat,  lively  conscience,  and  even 
if  God  curses  me,  help  me  not  to  mind  a  bit!" 

The  scandalised  mamma  decided  that  extempore  prayer 
must  be  discouraged,  and  seeking  out  in  one  of  the  manuals 
a  form  of  prayer  of  strictly  limited  range,  repressed  all  addi- 
tions and  emendations. 

Obedient  to  the  traditions  of  her  own  youth,  Lady  Isabel, 
as  her  children  successively  attained  the  mature  age  of  six 
years,  bestowed  Bibles  upon  them,  but  it  was  Christian,  alone 
of  the  family,  that  applied  herself  with  any  diligence  to  the 
study  of  the  Scriptures.  She  began  with  the  Book  of  Esther 
(in  which  she  found  a  satisfaction  that  in  after  life  remained 
something  of  a  bewilderment  to  her),  and  thence,  but  this 
was  a  year  or  two  later,  for  no  reason  that  can  be  assigned, 
she  passed  lightly  to  the  Book  of  Revelation.  With  it,  it 
may  be  said,  the  artistic  side  of  her,  that  had  leaped  to 


MOUNT  MUSIC  45 

sympathy  with  Larry's  emotion  over  "Dark  Rosaleen"  and 
"The  Spirit  of  the  Nation,"  awakened,  and  her  artistic  life 
began.  That  glittering,  prismatic  chapter,  that  tells  of  the 
rainbow  round  about  the  Throne,  in  sight  like  unto  an  emerald, 
and  the  Sea  of  glass,  like  unto  crystal,  that  was  before  the 
Throne,  and  the  thunderings  and  the  voices,  and  the  Voice 
as  it  were  a  trumpet  talking.  Christian  read  the  chapter  over 
and  over  again,  for  the  sheer  glory  of  the  beautiful  words. 
She,  also,  knew  of  Voices,  and  Music,  that  other  people 
did  not  seem  to  hear.  She  could  understand,  and  could 
tremble  to  those  strange  shouts,  and  trumpet-blasts,  and 
thunderings. 

The  Pale  Horse  that  happened  after  the  Fourth  Seal  was 
broken ! 

She  would  sit  as  still  as  if  she  were  frozen,  while  she 
thought  of  the  Pale  Horse  coming  crashing  through  Dharrig 
Wood,  with  Death  on  his  back,  and  Hell  following  with 
him — she  always  thought  of  him  in  that  black  wood  of  pine 
trees 

"Wake  up,  Christian!"  Miss  Weyman,  the  governess, 
would  say. 

One  of  the  Twins  would  hiss  between  his  teeth: 
"Christian,  dost  thou  see  them?" 

Christian  would  feel  a  spiritual  bump,  as  though  she  had 
been  flung  off  her  chair  on  to  the  schoolroom  floor,  and  Miss 
Weyman  (always  enviously  spoken  of  by  adjacent  mammas 
as  "that  most  sensible  little  Englishwoman")  would  say: 

"I  wonder  how  much  you  heard  of  what  I  was  reading! 
I  wish  I  could  see  you  learning  to  have  a  little  more  con- 
centration !" 

Whereas,  did  the  excellent  Miss  Weyman  only  know  it, 
a  very  little  more  concentration  on  Christian's  part,  and  it  is 
possible  that  she,  and  Judith,  and  the  Twins,  might  all  have 
seen  the  Pale  Horse  thundering  past  the  schoolroom  windows. 
Stranger  things  have  happened.  The  Indian  rope  and  basket 
trick,  for  instance. 

"A  most  curious  child — a  perfect  passion   for  animals, 


46  MOUNT  MUSIC 

and  so  dreamy,  if  you  know  what  I  mean,"  Miss  Weyman 
would  say  to  a  comrade  visitor.  "And  the  things  that  she 
seems  to  have  learnt  from  the  huntsman!  But  really  a  nice 
little  thing,  and  clever,  too,  though  a  most  erratic  worker! 
Now,  Judith "  Miss  Weyman  felt  there  was  some  satis- 
faction in  teaching  Judith.  She  could  concentrate,  if  the 
comrade  visitor  liked!  Nothing  was  a  difficulty  to  her! 
And  her  memory!  And  her  energy — Miss  Weyman  freely 
admitted  that  Judith  was  three  years  older  than  Christian, 

but  still 

In  short,  Judith  was  a  credit  to  any  sensible  little  English- 
woman, but  Christian  had  a  way  of  knowing  nothing  (as 
touching  arithmetic,  for  example),  or  too  much  (as  touching 
Shakespeare  and  the  Book  of  Revelation),  that  implied  con- 
siderable independence  as  to  the  instructions  of  Miss  Wey- 
man, and  no  sensible  little  Englishwoman  could  be  expected 
to  enjoy  that. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IT  is  not  peculiar  to  Irish  incomes  to  fail  to  develop  in  re- 
sponse to  increasing  demands  upon  them.  It  was,  however, 
a  distinctive  feature  of  the  incomes  of  those  who  were  Irish 
landlords  during  the  latter  years  of  the  Victorian  era,  to 
shrink  in  steady  response  to  the  difficulties  of  English  govern- 
ment in  Ireland.  Only  Irish  people  can  understand  the  com- 
plicated processes  of  erosion  to  which  Dick  Talbot-Lowry's 
resources  were  subjected,  or  can  realise  the  tests  of  fortitude 
and  endurance  to  a  man  of  spirit-,  that  were  involved  by  the 
visitations  of  "Commissioners,"  with  their  fore-ordained  mis- 
sion of  lowering  Dick's  rents,  rents  that,  in  Dick's  opinion, 
were  already  philanthropically  low.  Major  Talbot-Lowry, 
like  many  of  his  tribe,  though  a  pessimist  in  politics,  was  an 
optimist  in  most  other  matters,  and  found  it  impossible  to 
conceive  a  state  of  affairs  when  he  would  be  unable  to  do — • 
approximately — whatever  he  had  a  mind  for.  At  the  age 
of  fifty-eight,  fortitude  and  endurance  are  something  of  a 
difficulty  for  a  gentleman  unused  to  the  exercise  of  either  of 
these  fine  qualities,  and  after  keeping  the  Broadwater  Vale 
Hounds,  for  seventeen  years,  as  hounds  should  be  kept,  re- 
gardless of  the  caprices  of  the  subscription  list,  Major- 
Talbot-Lowry  felt  that  he  had  deserved  better  of  his  country 
than  that  he  should  now  have  to  institute  minor  economies, 
such  as  putting  his  men  into  brown  breeches,  foregoing  the 
yearly  renewal  of  their  scarlet  coats,  and  other  like  humilia- 
tions. Farther  than  details  such  as  these,  his  sense  of  right 
and  wrong  did  not  permit  him  to  go. 

"There  are  some  things  that  they  can't  expect  a  gentle- 

47 


48  MOUNT  MUSIC 

man  to  do,"  he  would  say  to  his  cousin,  Miss  Coppinger, 
"and  as  long  as  I  keep  the  hounds " 

"Then,  my  dear  Dick,  if  you  can't  afford  them,  why  keep 
them?"  Frederica  would  rejoin,  with  unsparing  common- 
sense. 

Unmarried  ladies  of  mature  age,  have,  as  a  rule,  learned 
not  only  fortitude  and  endurance,  but  have  also  mastered 
the  fact  that  ways  are  governed  by  means.  Those  processes 
of  erosion,  however,  to  which  reference  has  been  made,  were, 
comparatively  speaking,  slow  in  operation,  and  there  remained 
always  Lady  Isabel's  twenty  thousand  golden  sovereigns,  as 
safe  and  secluded  in  the  hands  of  trustees  (who  had  a  con- 
stitutional disbelief  in  Irishmen),  as  if  they  were  twenty 
thousand  nuns  under  the  rule  of  a  royal  abbess. 

Therefore  did  Major  Talbot-Lowry,  M.F.H.,  and  the 
Broadwater  Vale  Hounds,  make  a  creditable  show,  brown 
breeches  and  last  season's  pink  coats  notwithstanding,  at  the 
meet  at  Coppinger's  Court,  on  December  26th  of  the  year 
1897.  The  weather  was  grey  and  silver,  with  a  light  south- 
east wind  and  a  rising  glass.  Sunshine  was  filtering  down, 
as  it  were  through  muslin  curtains  that  might  at  any  moment 
be  withdrawn;  some  crocuses  and  snowdrops  had  appeared 
in  the  grass  round  the  wide  gravel  sweep  in  front  of  the 
house;  there  was  a  perplexed  primrose  or  two,  deceived  by 
the  sun  as  to  the  date;  the  scent  of  the  violets  in  the  bed 
under  the  drawing-room  windows,  came  in  delicate  whiffs 
round  the  corner  of  the  house.  It  would  have  been  impossible 
to  believe  that  but  twenty-four  hours  ago,  Christmas  hymns 
had  been  shouted,  and  Christmas  presents  presented,  had  not 
a  group  of  "Wran-boys"  offered  irrefutable  testimony  that 
this  was  indeed  the  Feast  of  Stephen.  These,  a  ragged  and 
tawdry  little  clustejr  of  mummers,  shabby  survivors  of 
mediaeval  mysteries,  were  gathered  round  their  ensign  holly- 
bush  in  front  of  the  hall-door  steps.  From  the  holly-bush 
swung  the  corpse  of  the  wren,  and  from  the  throats  of  the 
Wran-Boys  came  the  song  that  recounts  the  wicked  wren's 
pursuit  and  slaughter: 


MOUNT  MUSIC  49 

"The  Wran,  the  Wran,  the  King  of  all  birds, 
On  Stephenses'  Day  was  cot  in  the  furze, 
And  though  he  is  little,  his  family  is  great, 
Rise  up,  good  gentlemen,  and  give  us  a  thrate — Huzzay !" 

Wherever  in  South  Munster  two  or  three  boys  were 
gathered  together,  that  song  was  being  sung,  and  Major 
Talbot-Lowry  and  his  staff  had  already  met  so  many  of  such 
companies  on  their  way  to  the  Meet,  that  their  horses'  indig- 
nation at  finding  a  further  collection  of  nightmares  at  Cop- 
pinger's  Court  was  excusable. 

On  the  high  flight  of  hall-door  steps,  stood  Larry  and  Miss 
Coppinger,  the  former  pale  with  excitement,  the  latter 
doggedly  resigned  to  the  convention  that  compelled  her  to 
offer  intoxicating  drinks  to  people  who,  as  she  said,  had  but 
just  swallowed  their  breakfasts.  Larry  had  learned  many 
things  since  that  day  of  abysmal  ignorance  when  he  had 
spoken  of  Amazon  as  a  "nice  dog."  Among  his  many 
enthusiasms  he  now  included  a  passion  for  the  chase,  and  all 
that  appertains  to  its  elaborate  cult,  that  complied  with 
Christian's,  and  even  Cottingham's,  sense  of  what  was  be- 
coming, and,  having  dedicated  a  shelf  in  the  library  to  books 
on  hunting,  he  had  read  them  all,  with  the  same  ardour  that, 
four  years  earlier,  he  had  brought  to  bear  on  The  Spirit 
of  the  Nation  and  Irish  history. 

Major  Talbot-Lowry  looked  down,  from  the  top  of  his 
tall,  white-faced  chestnut,  on  his  young  cousin,  and  accepted 
the  glass  of  port  that  Larry  reverently  offered  to  him,  with  a 
pleased  appreciation  of  the  reverence.  Cousin  Dick  was  not 
invariably  pleased  with  his  young  cousin.  He  had  gathered, 
hazily,  from  his  wife,  such  of  the  tenets  of  the  Companions 
of  Finn  as  she,  instructed  by  Miss  Weyman,  had  been  able  to 
impart,  and  had  not  approved  of  them,  nor  of  Larry's  part 
in  introducing  them  to  his  young;  also  it  was  annoying 
(especially  when  he  remembered  the  brown  breeches,  etc.) 
to  think  of  a  young  cub  of  a  boy  having  more  money  than 
he  knew  what  to  do  with;  and,  finally,  and  all  the  time, 


50  MOUNT  MUSIC 

there  was  that  almost  unconscious,  inbred  distrust  of  Larry's 
religion. 

Nevertheless,  it  has  been  said  that  "wise  men  live  in  the 
present,  for  its  bounties  suffice  them,"  and  Dick,  if  not  very 
wise,  was  very  good-natured,  and  was  wise  enough  to  realise 
that  the  fine  weather,  and  the  good  horse  under  him,  and 
even  Larry's  homage,  were  bounties  sufficient  unto  the  day. 

"Got  a  fox  for  me,  Larry?  That's  right.  Good  boy. 
Where  d'ye  think  we'll  find  him?" 

"He's  using  the  Quarry  Wood  earth,  Cousin  Dick,"  said 
Larry,  breathlessly,  with  the  anxiety  of  the  owner  of  the 
coverts  alight  in  his  eyes.  "I'm  certain  he's  there.  I 
went  round  with  Sullivan  myself  last  night,  and  we  stopped 
the  whole  place.  I  bet  he'll  not  get  in  anywhere!" 

"Good!  I'll  draw  the  Quarry  Wood  first,"  said  Cousin 
Dick,  with  royal  benignity.  "You  get  away  outside  at  the 
western  end,  and  keep  a  look-out  for  him." 

A  heavy  man,  on  an  enormous  grey  horse,  had  approached 
the  Master,  having  edged  his  way  through  the  hounds  with 
ostentatious  care.  He  was  of  a  type  sufficiently  common 
among  southern  Irishmen,  with  thick,  strong-growing,  black 
hair,  a  large,  black  moustache,  and  heavy  brows,  over-shad- 
owing eyes  of  precisely  the  same  shade  of  blunted  blue  as  his 
shaven  chin. 

"He's  a  credit  to  his  breeding,  Major!"  said  the  heavy 
man,  indicating  Larry  with  a  sandwich  from  which  he  had 
taken  a  bite  of  the  size  of  one  of  his  horse's  hoofs;  "I  wish 
we  had  a  few  more  lads  coming  on  in  the  country  like  him!" 

"What  good  are  they  going  to  do  ?"  responded  the  Master, 
reverting  to  the  pessimistic  mood  that  was  daily  becoming 
more  frequent  with  him ;  "what  chance  is  there  for  a  gentle- 
man in  this  damned  country?  You  might  as  well  have  a 
mill-stone  round  your  neck  as  an  Irish  property  these  times! 
What  do  you  suppose  will  be  left  to  us  after  the  next  'Re- 
vision of  Rents,'  as  they  call  it?" 

"Well,  deuce  a  much  indeed,"  returned  Doctor  Mangan, 
equably,  "but  it  mightn't  be  so  bad  as  that  altogether!  I 


MOUNT  MUSIC  51 

have  my  little  girl  out  for  the  first  time  to-day,  Major.  I 
wonder  might  I  ask  your  man,  that's  looking  after  your 
young  ladies,  to  have  an  eye  to  her,  too?" 

Doctor  Mangan  withdrew  with  the  required  permission, 
and  with  his  daughter  at  his  heels,  proceeded  through  the 
assembling  riders  and  carriages,  distributing  greetings  as  he 
went. 

Doctor  Francis  Aloysius  Mangan  was  one  of  the  leading 
doctors  in  the  district  of  which  the  towns  of  Cluhir  and 
Riverstown  each  felt  itself  to  fill  the  most  important  place. 
Ireland  grows  doctors  and  clergymen  with  almost  equal  suc- 
cess and  profusion.  There  is  in  the  national  character  a 
considerable  share  of  the  constituents  that  are  valuable  in  both 
professions.  Power  of  sympathy,  good-nature,  intuition, 
adroitness,  discernment  of  character,  and  a  gift  for  taking 
every  man  in  his  humour.  Qualities  that  are  perhaps  beside 
the  specialised  requirements,  but  are  equally  indispensable. 

In  what  degree  these  attributes  were  bestowed  upon  Doctor 
Mangan  may  gradually  be  ascertained  by  the  patient  reader, 
but  in  the  case  of  Father  David  Hogan,  P.P.,  of  Riverstown, 
at  this  juncture  in  lively  converse  with  the  Misses  Talbot- 
Lowry,  the  reader  may  be  spared  the  exercise  of  that  tire- 
some virtue,  and  may  feel  confident  that  Father  Hogan  failed 
in  none  of  the  qualities  that  have  been  enumerated.  Father 
David  was,  indeed,  the  most  popular  man  in  the  country 
with  all  classes  and  creeds;  he  was  universally  known  as  the 
Chaplain  of  the  B.V.H.,  and  was  accounted  one  of  the 
chiefest  glories  of  the  hunt.  Major  Talbot-Lowry  was  ac- 
customed to  boast,  in  places  where  such  as  he  congregate, 
that  He,  in  His  country,  had  the  best  priest  in  Ireland!  A 
real  good  man.  Kept  the  farmers  civil  and  friendly.  Man- 
aged a  district  for  the  Fowl  Fund.  And  a  topper  to  ride — 
always  at  the  top  of  the  hunt! 

"Trust  a  priest  to  have  a  good  horse!"  is  the  rejoinder 
prescribed  in  such  cases,  and  Major  Dick's  fellows  seldom 
failed  to  comply  with  the  ritual. 

Father  David,  stout,  jolly,  and,  like  his  namesake,  of  a 


52  MOUNT  MUSIC 

ruddy  countenance,  mounted  upon  a  black  mare  as  stout  and 
sporting-looking  as  himself,  was,  as  Doctor  Mangan  drew 
near  to  the  Misses  Talbot-Lowry,  beaming  upon  these  two 
lambs  from  another  fold,  and  having  congratulated  Miss 
Judith  on  the  appearance  of  the  grey  mare  that  she  was 
riding  (reft  from  Lady  Isabel  and  the  victoria),  was  endear- 
ing himself  to  Miss  Christian  by  tales  of  the  brace  of  hound 
puppies  that  he  was  walking  for  the  hunt. 

The  advantage  of  being  the  youngest  member  of  a  large 
family  is  one  that  takes  a  considerable  time  to  mature. 
Christian  was  thirteen  years  old  before  what  was  left  of  one 
of  the  Hunt  horses,  after  seven  strenuous  seasons  of  official 
work,  was  placed  at  her  sole  disposal.  This  residue,  battered 
though  it  was,  and  a  roarer  of  remarkable  power  and  volume, 
was  incapable  of  falling,  and  with  anything  under  eight  stone 
on  its  piebald  back  (piebald  from  incessant  and  sedulously 
concealed  saddle-galls)  could  always  be  trusted  to  keep 
within  reasonable  distance  of  hounds  when  they  ran.  It  was 
fortunate  for  Christian  that  Judith,  now  sixteen,  and  far 
from  a  feather-weight,  had  renounced  her  share  in  "Harry," 
and  had  established  a  right  in  the  grey  mare.  Judith  was  a 
buccaneer.  Charles,  the  coachman,  (in  connection  with  the 
commandeering  of  the  grey  mare,  which  he  resented)  had 
said  of  her  to  his  respected  friend,  Mr.  Evans:  "Ah,  ah! 
That's  the  young  lady  that'll  get  her  whack  out  of  the 
world!" 

And  Mr.  Evans'  reaping-hook  nose  had  sniffed  assent. 

Yet,  though  Judith  was  averted,  the  Christmas  holidays 
always  held  the  menace  of  brothers  to  be  reckoned  with  as 
rival  claimants  for  Harry. 

"The  boys,  darling!"  "Unselfishness,  darling!"  "After 
the  holidays,  my  child!" 

Lady  Isabel  was  of  the  school  that  inculcated  self-denial 
for  its  daughters,  but  never  for  its  sons;  (whether  from  a 
belief  that  such  was  inherent  in  the  male  sex,  or  from  a  fear 
that  the  effort  would  be  misplaced,  it  is  difficult  to  say). 
Christian  was  ever  quick  to  respond  to  the  call  for  martyr- 


MOUNT  MUSIC  53 

dom,  but  that  the  Twins  should  both  maltreat  and  despise 
the  venerable  Harry,  added  a  poignancy  to  renunciation  that 
placed  it  almost  beyond  attainment.  On  this  day  of  festival, 
happily,  renunciation  was  not  exacted;  other  attractions  had 
absorbed  the  Twins,  and  Christian's  rights  were  un- 
challenged. 

Therefore,  it  was  that  the  youngest  Miss  Talbot-Lowry, 
perched  on  old  Harry's  broad  back,  and  looking  of  about 
the  same  size  in  relation  to  it  as  the  "Wran"  to  the  holly- 
bush,  was  now  blissfully  discussing  hound-puppies  with  her 
trusted  friend,  Father  David,  and  was  asking  nothing  more 
that  life  could  offer. 

Dr.  Mangan,  meantime,  waited,  with  a  permissive  smile, 
for  the  moment  to  make  his  "little  girl"  known  to  the  young 
ladies  from  Mount  Music,  and  to  their  cousin,  young  Larry 
Coppinger.  He  was  in  no  hurry,  and  he  had  often  had 
occasion  to  agree  with  Milton  (though  he  had  been  quite 
unaware  of  so  doing)  in  thinking  that  they  also  serve  who 
only  stand  and  wait. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IT  may  be  permissible  to  introduce  a  meet  of  hounds  at  or 
about  the  end  of  a  chapter,  but  I  feel  sure  that  the  ensuing 
run  must  be  given  elbow-room.  Alarming  to  many  though 
this  statement  may  be,  yet  it  may  be  said  that  its  foundations 
are  laid  in  truth  and  equity,  and  in  the  necessities  of  this 
history  may  be  found  the  justification  of  the  chapter. 

The  Quarry  Wood  had  not  failed.  Larry's  fox  had  been 
in  it.  To  Larry,  seated  on  his  stout,  bay  cob,  with  a  heart 
banging  against  his  ribs,  and  a  soul  absorbed  into  a  single 
supplication,  had  come,  suddenly  and  beautifully,  the  answer 
to  prayer,  the  ineffable  spectacle  of  a  large  and  lovely  fox, 
sliding  quietly  away,  at  the  right  place,  at  the  right  moment. 
Life  could  offer  Larry  no  more;  not  then,  at  all  events. 

"My  coverts — my  fox!" 

Not  many  boys  of  sixteen,  enthusiasts,  endowed  with  just 
that  touch  of  the  poetic  temperament  that  can  set  the  brain 
reeling,  could  know  a  more  wondrous  moment. 

Then  to  see  Cousin  Dick,  blazing  and  splendid,  charging 
out  of  the  wood,  "like  the  man  on  the  red  horse  in  Reve- 
lation," as  Christian  said  afterwards — (Christian  had  sneaked 
away  from  Charles,  the  coachman,  and  had  followed  Larry) 
— with  the  hounds  flashing  around  and  ahead  of  him,  and 
Cottingham's  rasping  "Forrad!  Forrad!"  from  the  wood 
behind,  like  the  blast  of  a  bellows  upon  flames! 

Larry  had  been  past  speech  when  that  apocalyptic  vision 
had  materialised  in  response  to  his  halloa.  He  had  waved 
bis  hat  and  cheered  the  hounds  to  the  line  of  the  fox,  but  it 
had  been  unnecessary;  they  had  not  had  an  instant's  uncer- 

54 


MOUNT  MUSIC  55 

tainty,  and  had  taken  hold  on  their  own  account  without 
reference  to  anyone. 

That  the  hold  taken  by  the  hounds  was  a  firm  and  assured 
one  was  due,  not  only  to  their  own  virtues,  but  also  to  the 
fact  that  where  the  fox  had  broken,  a  tract  of  turf  bog  met 
the  wood,  and  carried  a  scent  of  entire  efficiency.  What, 
however,  it  was  incapable  of  carrying  were  the  horses.  The 
hounds,  uttering  their  ecstasy  in  that  gorgeous  chorus  of 
harmonious  discordance  called  Full  Cry,  sped  across  the  bog 
like  a  flock  of  seagulls;  but  for  the  riders,  a  narrow  track 
between  deep  ditches  left  by  the  turf-cutters  for  their  carts, 
was  the  sole  hope,  and  a  string  of  horses,  galloping  in  single 
file,  was  soon  following  hard  on  the  heels  of  the  Master. 
Foremost  of  them  all  were  Christian  and  Larry,  filled  with 
an  elation  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  convey.  The  hounds 
were  holding  steadily  right-handed  across  the  bog,  and  were 
ever  widening  the  distance  between  them  and  the  riders,  but 
it  was  enough  for  these  two  children  to  be  able  to  keep  their 
proud  place,  next  after  the  Master,  and  to  know  that  no  one, 
not  even  Cottingham,  could  deprive  them  of  it.  It  may 
gravely  be  questioned  if  Tommy,  the  stout  bay  cob,  and 
Harry,  the  residue  of  a  hunt  horse,  appreciated  a  position  to 
which  they  were  so  little  accustomed.  Harry,  whose  heart, 
indisputably  in  the  right  place,  was  possibly  the  only  sound 
item  in  his  outfit,  pounded  gallantly  on,  roaring  as  he  went, 
like  a  lion  seeking  after  his  prey ;  but  Tommy,  whose  labours 
were,  as  a  rule,  limited  to  mild  harness-work,  was  kept  going 
mainly  by  stress  of  circumstances,  in  which  category  Larry's 
spurs  took  a  prominent  part.  The  bog-track  at  length  became 
merged  in  a  rushy  field,  and  then  indeed  did  the  pent  waters 
of  the  hunt  break  forth.  Major  Dick's  tall  chestnut  had 
gradually  increased  his  lead,  and  by  the  time  the  track  was 
clear  of  riders,  he  was  two  fields  ahead,  with  Cottingham 
not  far  behind,  and  a  few  indignant  young  men  riding  like 
maniacs  to  overtake  them.  To  have  been  held  back  by  a 
schoolboy  and  a  little  girl  is  an  indignity  not  easily  to  be 
borne.  The  Broadwater  Vale  field  was  a  hard-going  one, 


56  MOUNT  MUSIC 

including  a  strengthening  of  young  soldiers  from  the  regi- 
ment quartered  at  Riverstown,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
Tommy  and  Harry  were  beginning  to  find  themselves  in  a 
more  familiar  and  less  exigent  position.  Judith,  on  the  grey 
mare,  went  by  them  like  a  flash;  Doctor  Mangan  overtook 
them  heavily,  and  heavily  passed  them.  Father  David,  riding 
a  little  wide  of  the  crowd,  waved  a  friendly  hand  to  Chris- 
tian, as  the  black  mare,  composed  and  discreet,  as  became  a 
daughter  of  the  Church,  dwelt  for  an  instant  on  the  top  of 
a  wide  bank,  before  she  struck  off  into  the  next  field.  Worst 
indignity  of  all,  Charles,  the  coachman,  on  the  elderly  car- 
riage horse,  drew  alongside,  and  presumed  to  offer  direc- 
tions and  admonitions.  "As  if,"  thought  Christian,  as  she 
drove  Harry  at  the  bank  in  the  wake  of  the  black  mare,  "I 
cared  a  pin  what  he  says!" 

Gone  for  poor  Charles  were  the  days  when  Miss  Christian 
had  revered  him  above  all  other  created  things;  days  such 
as  the  one  on  which,  after  a  ride  round  the  yard  on  an  un- 
harnessed carriage  horse,  Christian,  in  gratitude  too  great 
for  words,  had  attempted  to  kiss  him.  Charles  had  repelled 
the  embrace,  saying  tactfully:  "No  pleasures  in  Lent,  Miss!" 
and  Christian  had  accepted  the  excuse.  Then  Miss  Christian 
had  been  three  years  old,  now  she  was  thirteen,  and  Charles 
had,  in  the  interval,  married  a  cook,  and  lost  his  figure,  and 
with  it,  had  departed  his  nerve,  and  the  reverance  of  Miss 
Christian,  and  he  knew  it. 

Close  behind  Charles  came  Dr.  Mangan's  "little  girl," 
who  had  been  confided  with  a  lubricating  half-crown,  to  his 
care.  Miss  Letitia  Mangan  was  far  from  considering  her- 
self a  little  girl.  She  was  sixteen  and  a  half,  and  conceived 
herself  to  be  of  combatant  rank,  even  though  her  thick,  dark 
hair  banged  on  her  back  in  a  ponderous  pigtail,  and  her 
education  at  the  Cluhir  Convent  School  was  still  uncom- 
pleted. The  fat,  piebald  pony  that  she  was  riding  would 
have  a  sore  back  before  she  got  home.  Christian,  perched 
wren-like  on  her  ancient  steed  (but  a  wren  placed  with 
mathematical  accuracy  of  directness  with  relation  to  the 


MOUNT  MUSIC  57 

steed's  ears),  noted  with  disfavour  the  crooked  seat,  the  heavy 
hand  on  the  curb.  Larry,  hot  and  pink,  with  hat  hanging 
by  its  guard,  his  fair  hair  looking  like  storm-tossed  corn- 
stooks,  noted  nothing,  being  wholly  engrossed  in  bitter  con- 
flict with  Tommy.  The  art  of  keeping  a  good  start  with 
hounds  is  not  given  to  many,  and  least  of  all  to  the  young 
and  inexperienced.  From  having  been  first  of  the  first,  it 
had  fallen  to  Larry  and  Christian  to  find  themselves  last, 
and  last  in  the  despised  company  of  Charles  and  "the  Mangan 
girl." 

The  unexacting  position  of  being  at  the  heel  of  the  hunt 
may  have  a  charm  for  the  philosophic  or  unambitious,  but 
so  black  a  continuation  of  so  great  a  start  was  a  trial  quite 
beyond  the  endurance  of  a  young  gentleman  possessed  of 
the  artistic  temperament.  And  then  the  abominable  Mangan 
girl  came  into  play,  and  joined  in  the  circling  performance 
at  the  big  bank.  Always,  when  Larry  felt  that  this  time  the 
cob  was  going  to  "have  it,"  that  cow-like  red  and  white 
beast  would  jam  itself  in  the  way,  so  he  thought,  raging. 
In  this  matter  of  hunting,  Dr.  Mangan  had  not  been  well 
advised  in  his  scheme  for  his  little  girl's  social  advantage. 

In  the  meantime  the  hounds  had  run  their  fox  into  Drum- 
keen  Wood,  and  the  riders,  arriving  in  small  and  breathless 
companies,  thanked  God  for  a  check,  and  tightened  their 
girths  and  took  courage.  The  latter  would  undoubtedly 
be  needed  if  the  run  continued;  Drumkeen  Wood  was  hung 
like  a  cloak  upon  the  side  of  a  steep  hill,  and  was  the  in- 
variable prelude  to  the  worst  going  within  the  bounds  of  the 
hunt. 

"If  he's  into  the  big  earth  here,  I'm  afraid  it's  good-bye 
to  him!"  said  Dr.  Mangan,  taking  courage  in  a  liquid  form. 
"It  was  a  sweet  gatlop  while  it  lasted!  Sweet  and  short, 
like  this  toothful  of  cherry  brandy  I'm  after  drinking!" 

"Ah,  that's  poor  stuff,  Doctor,"  said  Mr.  Hallinan,  pro- 
prietor of  Hallinan 's  Hotel,  a  prosperous  hostelry,  much 
patronised  by  salmon-fishers.  "Give  me  a  sup  of  good  old 
John  Jameson  in  its  purity!" 


58  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"  'Twas  for  Tishy  I  brought  this  out,"  replied  the  Doctor, 
apologetically;  "but  I  lost  sight  of  her.  She's  back  some- 
where with  little  Christian  Lowry  and  young  Coppinger." 

"What  sort  of  a  lad  is  that?"  asked  Mr.  Mailman.  "Is 
he  as  big  a  pup  as  them  young  Lowrys?" 

"Ah,  they're  not  so  bad  altogether,"  said  Dr.  Mangan, 
indulgently.  "Young  sprigs  like  them  are  none  the  worse 
for  a  little  tashpy,  as  the  people  say!"  The  Doctor's  heavy 
voice  relaxed  a  little  over  the  world  tashpy  (which,  it  should 
perhaps  be  explained,  is  Irish,  and  implies  a  blend  of  impu- 
dence and  high  spirits).  He  was  quite  aware  that  his  friend 
Hallinan  and  he  regarded  the  Talbot-Lowrys  from  a  dif- 
ferent standpoint. 

"I  was  having  a  bit  of  lunch  there  the  other  day,"  he  went 
on,  "and  I  thought  they  were  nice  boys  enough." 

"I  hope  you  got  enough  to  eat!"  said  Mr.  Hallinan,  dis- 
agreeably; "I'm  told  that  their  butcher's  sick  and  tired  try- 
ing to  get  what  he's  owed,  out  of  them!  There  should  be 
drink  enough,  anyway!  I'm  just  after  sending  in  a  case  of 
whisky  there.  God  knows  when  I'll  be  ped  for  it!" 

At  this  moment  the  two  gentlemen,  whose  horses  were 
nibbling  the  grass  of  the  bank  that  surrounded  the  wood, 
were  shaken  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  white  nose  of 
the  Master's  chestnut  on  the  other  side  of  the  bank. 

"I'd  be  obliged  if  there  was  less  noise!"  said  the  Master's 
voice,  with  threatening  in  it. 

Mr.  Hallinan's  jaw  dropped  unaffectedly. 

"Merciful  God!"  he  murmured;  "did  he  hear  me,  d'ye 
think?" 

"Ah,  no  fear,  man!"  whispered  the  Doctor,  encouragingly. 
"And  if  he  did  itself,  maybe  you'd  get  your  cheque  a  bit 
quicker !" 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  a  whimpering  whistle  from  a 
hound,  invisible,  yet  near  at  hand,  sent  a  thrill  through  the 
waiting  riders.  There  followed  the  rustling  rush  of  hounds 
through  the  undergrowth,  as  they  gathered  to  enquire  into 


MOUNT  MUSIC  59 

the  whimper.  Then  another  whimper,  merging  into  a  squeal, 
and  Cottingham's  voice: 

"Hark  to  Dulcet!    Forrad  to  Dulcet!" 

"Begad,  they  have  him  again,"  said  Dr.  Mangan,  without 
enthusiasm.  "I  wonder  where  is  Tishy  gone  to  ?  I  suppose 
they'll  run  these  blasted  hills  now " 

The  big  grey  horse,  and  his  seventeen  stone  rider,  moved 
off  in  the  opposite  direction  to  the  tread  of  the  hunt,  which 
was  slowly  and  steadily  pushing  upwards  through  the  wood. 
Dr.  Mangan  was  one  of  the  select  company  of  followers  of 
hounds  who  know  when  they  have  had  enough. 

A  narrow,  stony  passage,  more  resembling  a  drain  than  a 
lane,  ran  round  the  wood;  the  riders  hustled  along  it,  like 
a  train  in  a  cutting,  too  tightly  packed  for  the  most  vindictive 
kicker  to  injure  his  neighbour,  too  hampered  by  impeding 
rocks  to  make  more  speed  than  can  be  accomplished  by  a 
jog.  The  drain  ended  at  a  V-shaped  fissure  between  two 
slants  of  rock,  and,  by  the  time  the  last  horse  had  clattered 
and  scrambled  up  it,  the  hounds  were  away  again,  steering 
up,  across  heathery  fields,  enclosed  by  fences  and  stone  walls 
of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  for  a  great  double-headed  hill  on  the 
sky-L.c,  three  or  more  miles  away. 

"Carrigaholt  as  usual!"  said  Major  Dick,  over  his 
shoulder,  to  the  Hon.  Sec.,  young  Kirby  of  Castle  Ire.  "If 
you  get  a  chance,  try  and  head  him  off  the  western  rocks — 
and  Bill!  Tell  those  infernal  children  of  mine  they're  to 
keep  with  Charles  and  look  out  for  bogs!" 

His  conscience  as  a  parent  thus  appeased,  the  Master  ap- 
plied himself  to  the  no  small  task  of  keeping  his  hounds  in 
sight,  and  of  evading  the  equal  difficulties  presented  by  rocks 
and  bog  holes.  The  offspring  in  question  were  now,  with 
Larry,  in  comparative  and  undesired  safety  beneath  the  flut- 
tering wing  of  Charles,  and  Bill  Kirby,  having  faithfully 
delivered  his  message,  found  himself  immediately  adopted 
as  an  alternative  protector,  and  repented  him  of  his  fidelity. 

The  hounds  stormed  on  through  the  hills,  running  hard 
across  the  frequent  boggy  tracts,  more  slowly,  and  with 


60  MOUNT  MUSIC 

searchings,  over  the  intervening  humps  of  rock  and  furze. 
The  fox  was  making  a  well-known  point,  and  running  a  well- 
known  line,  but  the  fences  in  their  infinite  variety,  defied  the 
staling  force  of  custom,  and  the  difficulties  of  the  going  were 
intensified  by  the  pace.  The  hounds  gained  at  length  the 
ridge  of  the  high  country,  and  as  they  flitted  along  the  sky- 
line, the  riders,  labouring  among  the  rocks,  skirting  the  bogs, 
pounding  at  the  best  pace  they  could  raise  over  the  intervals 
of  heather  and  grass,  felt  that  their  hold  on  the  hunt  had 
become  distinctly  insecure. 

"  'Christian  dost  thou  see  them  ?' "  quoted  Larry,  kicking 
his  heels  into  the  bay  cob's  well-covered  ribs  without  effect, 
"for  I  don't!" 

"They'll  check  at  Carrigaholt,"  called  back  Bill  Kirby; 
"that'll  be  our  chance " 

They  were  far  up  on  the  slope  of  the  hills  now;  the 
country  swung  in  long,  dipping  lines,  down  i  the  Vale  of 
the  Broadwater,  and  spread,  in  great  and  generous  curves, 
away  to  the  far  range  of  the  Mweelin  Mountains,  that 
brooded,  in  colour  a  deep  and  sullen  sapphire,  on  the  horizon. 
The  town  of  Cluhir,  a  little  puff  of  smoke,  cut  in  two  by  the 
wide  river,  lay  below.  The  spires  of  the  two  churches  rose 
above  the  smoke,  one  on  either  side  of  the  bridge  that  spanned 
the  river.  The  sound  of  bells,  faintly  rising  from  one  of 
them,  summoned  the  faithful  to  the  mid-day  Mass  in  honour 
of  St.  Stephen. 

Larry,  pushing  Tommy  along  at  a  dogged  canter,  lifted 
his  bowler  hat  as  he  heard  the  bells,  and  Christian  and 
Judith  looked  at  each  other.  The  tradition  of  the  Protestant, 
"No  demonstrations!"  with  its  singular  "uspicion  and  dis- 
trust of  manifestations  of  reverence  or  poetry,  had  been  early 
implanted  in  them,  and  Judith  murmured  to  Christian :  "How 
on  earth  does  he  remember?" 

"I  know  I  couldn't,"  admitted  Christian;  yet  some  feel- 
ing that,  though  crushed,  had  survived  the  heavy  feet  of 
Lady  Isabel's  trusted  manuals,  stirred  in  her  in  accord  with 
the  faint  clash  of  the  chapel  bells,  making  her  envy  Larry 


MOUNT  MUSIC  61 

his  accredited  salutation,  making  her  feel  something  of  the 
beauty,  if  not  of  holiness,  of,  at  least,  the  recognition  that 
there  were  holy  things  in  the  world. 

On  the  nearer  head  of  Carrigaholt  the  check,  predicted  by 
Bill  Kirby,  came.  A  narrow  and  level  plateau  ran  between 
the  twin  crests;  above  it  on  both  sides,  rose  successive  shelves 
of  cliff,  with  swathes  of  russet  bracken  muffling  their  fierce 
outline.  Flung  about  on  the  shelves,  looking  like  tumbled 
piles  of  giant  books  in  a  neglected  library,  were  immense 
rectangular  rocks;  one  would  say  that  only  the  grey  and 
knotted  cords  of  the  ivy  that  had  crept  over  them,  held  them 
in  their  place  upon  those  rugged  shelves.  At  one  end  of 
the  level  place  the  ground  fell  steeply  to  a  wild  stream,  the 
Feorish,  from  whose  farther  bank  another  hill,  but  little  less 
formidable  than  Carrigaholt,  rose  like  an  enemy  tower, 
threatening  its  defences.  The  hounds  swarmed  like  bees 
among  the  rocks,  jumping  or  falling  from  shelf  to  shelf, 
burrowing  and  thrusting  through  the  bracken,  their  heads 
appearing  suddenly  in  quite  improbable  places,  with  glowing 
eyes  and  glistening  pink  tongues,  demanding  from  their 
huntsman  the  information  that  no  one  but  themselves  could 
give. 

It  was  a  place  in  which  not  one,  but  a  hundred  places  of 
safety  presented  themselves  to  a  fox,  but  this  good  fox  had 
despised  them  all,  and,  of  all  the  hounds,  it  was  Amazon, 
Christian's  beloved  foundling,  who  was  first  to  recognise  the 
fact.  Far  down,  from  th  .  bottom  of  the  gorge,  she  called 
to  her  fellows,  and  it  wr  Christian,  of  all  the  riders,  who 
first  heard  her  voice.  If  Larry  had  had  his  great  moment, 
when  the  fox  broke,  it  was  Christian's  turn  now,  when 
Amazon  fresh-found  him.  I  suppose  there  are  not  very 
many  people  who,  as  well  as  being  perfectly  happy,  are  con- 
scious of  their  perfect  happiness.  This  little  girl  was  of  that 
privileged  company,  as,  in  answer  to  her  call,  her  father 
threw  the  pack  over  the  edge  of  the  plateau  and  cheered  them 
to  Amazon. 

In  two  minutes,  a  frenzied  chorus  was  filling  the  narrow 


62  MOUNT  MUSIC 

gorge,  the  cry  of  the  hounds,  the  hurrying  reiterated  notes 
of  the  horn,  the  shouts  of  the  Whips  rating  on  stragglers, 
echoeing  and  re-echoing  from  cliff  to  cliff.  Before  the  riders 
had  committed  themselves  to  the  descent,  the  leading  hounds 
were  straining  up  the  opposite  cliff  face;  slithering,  and 
slipping,  the  horses  were  hurried  down  a  track  that  goats 
had  made  between  rocks  and  bracken,  and,  at  the  base, 
found  themselves  confronted  with  the  problem  of  the  river. 
The  River  Styx  could  hardly  look  less  attractive  than  did  the 
Feorish,  as  it  swirled,  swollen  and  foaming,  among  its  rocks, 
its  dark  torrent  plunging  from  steep  to  steep  in  roaring 
waterfalls.  Some  country  men,  high  on  the  cliffs,  howled 
directions,  and  the  Master,  his  eye  on  his  hounds  struggling 
with  the  fierce  stream,  went  on  down  the  gorge  until  the 
howls  changed  their  metre,  thus  indicating  to  the  experienced 
that  the  moment  had  come  to  cross  the  river.  The  ford,  such 
as  it  was,  permitted  some  half  dozen  of  the  horses  to  cross 
it,  splashing  and  floundering,  wobbling  perilously  from  the 
round  and  slimy  back  of  one  sunken  rock  to  another. 

Judith  and  the  grey  mare,  following  close  on  Bill  Kirby's 
heels,  got  over  neatly,  and  were  away  after  him  over  the  top 
of  the  hill  before  Christian's  turn  came.  The  ancient  and 
skilled  Harry  addressed  himself  to  the  task  with  elderly 
caution,  feeling  his  way  with  suspicion,  creeping  across  with 
slow-poised  feet,  and  was  so  delicate  over  the  effort,  that 
Larry's  cob,  following  too  close  on  him,  was  checked  at  a 
critical  moment.  He  struggled,  slipped,  recovered,  found 
himself  still  hindered  by  Harry,  and,  with  a  final  stagger, 
lost  footing  altogether,  and  rolled  over. 

Cottingham,  subsequently  recounting  the  incident,  declared 
that  he  thought,  he  did,  that  the  young  genel'm  was  done 
for;  but  "that  little  Miss  Christeen — she's  a  nummer  she 
is! — she  off'n  'er  'oss  before  I  fair  sees  what's  'appened,  and 
she  ketches  the  young  chap  by  the  'ed,  and  pulls  'im  clear! 
Her  did  indeed!  A  lill'  gurl  like  what  she  is  too!  Her's 
wuth  more  than  ten  big  men!" 

What  a  singular  encomium,  "a  nummer"  might  mean, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  63 

was  a  fact  known  only  to  Cottingham,  but  it  was  incontro- 
vertibly  Christian's  eel-like  swiftness  of  action  that  had  saved 
Larry  from  a  worse  accident.  Small  and  slender  though  she 
was,  she  was  wiry,  and  she  had  the  gift  of  being  able  instantly 
to  concentrate  every  force  of  mind  and  body  upon  a  desired 
point — a  rare  gift  and  a  precious  one. 

But  when  she  and  Larry,  dripping  and  hatless,  were 
hauled  into  safety  by  other  helpers,  less  swift  but  more  power- 
ful, it  was  found  that  Larry  had  not  come  out  of  the  Feorish 
unscathed.  His  left  hand  was  hanging,  helpless,  with  a 
broken  wrist. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  hunt  swept  on  after  the  manner  of  hunts,  full  of 
sympathy,  having,  as  to  one  man,  contributed  a  silver  cigar- 
ette case,  with  which  another,  a  resourceful  medical  student, 
had  improvised  a  splint,  but  feeling,  not  without  relief,  that 
they  could  do  nothing  more;  feeling  also,  with  depression, 
that  the  Lord  only  knew  where  the  devils  had  run  to  by 
this  time,  but  that  that  couldn't  be  helped;  with  which 
philosophic  reflection  and  many  valedictory  shouts  of  com- 
miseration, the  last  of  them  had  vanished  over  the  hill. 

The  unfortunate  Charles  restored  to  guardianship,  now 
found  himself  with  Miss  Judith,  lost;  Miss  Christian  soaked 
to  the  skin,  eight  miles  or  more  from  her  home;  Master 
Larry  ditto,  in  much  pain,  no  nearer  to  his,  and  unable  to 
mount  his  horse,  which  latter  would  have  to  be  led  over  a 
succession  of  fences  to  the  nearest  road;  (and  no  matter 
with  what  distinction  an  elderly  coachman  can  drive  a  pair 
of  horses  on  a  road,  it  is  very  far  from  being  the  same  thing 
to  get  a  pair  of  horses  across  a  country).  It  was,  therefore, 
a  very  gloomy  party  that  set  face  for  the  nearest  highway. 
The  intricacies  of  procedure  at  each  jump  need  not  here  be 
dealt  with,  but  it  may  be  said  that  a  more  thankful  man 
than  Charles,  when  he  again  felt  the  good  macadam  under 
his  feet,  is  not  often  met  with.  He  would  at  that  moment 
have  said  that  he  could  not  have  felt  an  intenser  gratitude 
than  suffused  him  as  he  saw  his  convoy  safe  off  the  hills; 
but  there  he  would  have  over-stated  the  case,  since,  scarcely 
five  minutes  after  the  road  had  been  reached,  an  even  more 
supreme  thankfulness  was  his.  Coming  rapidly  towards  him, 
he  beheld  Dr.  Mangan's  outside  car,  and  upon  it  was  the 
large  person  of  Dr.  Mangan  himself. 

64 


MOUNT  MUSIC  65 

"Well,"  said  Charles  that  evening,  to  Mr.  Evans,  "if  it 
was  the  Angel  Gabriel  I  seen  flying  down  to  me,  I  wouldn't 
be  as  glad  as  what  I  was  when  I  seen  the  Big  Doctor  on  the 
side-car!" 

And  Mr.  Evans  had  caustically  rejoined:  "It'll  be  the 
funny  day  when  you'll  see  wings  on  him!"  meaning  Dr. 
Mangan,  of  whom  he  had  a  low  opinion. 

Wings  or  no  wings,  no  angel  of  mercy  and  succour  was 
ever  more  welcome  or  more  needed  than  was  the  Big  Doctor 
at  this  moment.  Larry,  very  white,  shivering  with  pain 
and  cold,  was  lifted  on  to  the  car;  Christian  was  told  to 
gallop  away  home  as  fast  as  she  could,  and  Charles  was 
directed  to  let  Miss  Coppinger  know  that  her  nephew  would 
be  put  up  for  the  night  at  the  Doctor's  own  house  at 
Cluhir. 

"You  can  say  to  her  that  I  met  the  Hunt,  and  one  of  them 
told  me  what  happened,"  said  the  Big  Doctor,  "and  I  knew 
then  what  to  do." 

It  might,  indeed,  habitually  be  said  of  Dr.  Mangan  that 
he  knew  very  well  what  to  do.  There  were,  indeed,  but  two 
occasions  on  record  when  it  might  hav:  seemed  that  he  had 
not  so  known.  The  first  of  these  was  when  he  had  aban- 
doned an  improving  practice  in  Dublin  to  work  as  his  father's 
partner  in  his  native  Cluhir,  the  second,  when,  preliminary 
to  that  return,  he  had  married  a  lady,  alleged,  by  inventive 
and  disagreeable  people,  to  have  been  his  cook.  The  dis- 
agreable  people  had  also  said  disagreeable  things  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  stress  that  had  prompted  the  marri?ge.  But 
it  was  now  twenty  years  since  the  Mangans  had  been  estab- 
lished at  Number  Six,  The  Mall,  Cluhir;  the  Doctor  had 
come  in  for  his  father's  money  as  well  as  his  practice,  and 
was  respected  as  "a  warm  man";  the  disagreeable  ones  had 
grown  old,  and  people  who  are  both  old  and  disagreeable 
cannot  expect  to  command  a  large  audience.  Mrs.  Mangan, 
on  the  contrary,  was  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  being, 
at  this  time,  but  little  over  forty,  and  as  kindly,  lazy,  and 
handsome  a  creature  as  ever  lived  down  spiteful  gossip  by 


66  MOUNT  MUSIC 

good-nature.  When  "The  Dawkthor"  (as  she  called  him, 
with  a  drowsy  drag  on  the  first  syllable)  had  galloped  in 
at  one  o'clock  to  command  Barty's  room  to  be  got  ready  at 
once,  Mrs.  Mangan  was  still  in  what  she  called  "dishable," 
and  was  straying  between  her  bedroom  and  the  kitchen, 
pleasurably  involved  in  the  cares  of  both. 

"They  say  young  Coppinger  fell  in  the  river,  and  he's 
broken  his  wrist,"  said  the  Doctor  rapidly,  stamping  into 
his  wife's  room,  bringing  the  wind  of  the  hills  with  him. 
"I'll  bring  him  here  as  soon  as  I  can  get  hold  of  him." 

"The  creature!"  replied  Mrs.  Mangan,  sympathetically. 

"Well,  don't  be  waiting  to  pity  him  now!"  said  her  hus- 
band, stuffing  bandages  into  his  pocket,  "but  hurry  and  put 
hot  jars  into  the  bed — and  clean  sheets.  Don't  forget  now, 
Annie!" 

He  lumbered  in  his  long  boots  and  spurs,  down  to  the 
surgery,  still  issuing  directions. 

"Tishy'll  be  back  directly — she'll  give  you  a  hand — and 
Annie!  tell  Hannah  to  have  some  hot  soup  ready.  Now, 
hurry,  for  God's  sake!" 

The  front  door  into  the  Mall,  Cluhir's  most  fashionable 
quarter,  banged. 

"Well,  well!"  said  Mrs.  Mangan,  still  sympathetic,  while 
she  removed  the  curling-pins  from  her  bison  fringe;  "wasn't 
it  the  will  of  God  that  I  had  a  headache  this  morning  and 
couldn't  go  to  Mass!  I'll  have  something  to  say  to  Father 
Greer  now  if  he  draws  it  up  to  me  that  I  was  backward  in 
my  duty!" 

Much  fortified  by  this  reflection,  Mrs.  Mangan  hurriedly 
proceeded  with  her  toilette,  squalling  meanwhile  to  her 
hench-woman  in  the  kitchen  a  summary  of  the  Doctor's 
orders.  She  had  no  more  than  achieved  what  she  called  her 
"Sunday  dress,"  a  complimentary  effort  to  be  equally  divided 
between  Saint  Stephen  and  young  Mr.  Coppinger,  when  the 
back-door  into  the  yard  from  the  house  slammed,  and  her 
daughter's  voice  announced  her  return. 

"Come  up,  Tishy,  till  I  talk  to  you!"  shouted  Mrs.  Man* 


MOUNT  MUSIC  67 

gan,  slinging  a  long  gold  watch-chain  over  her  head  and 
festooning  it  upon  her  ample  bosom:  "Did  you  meet  Pappy?" 
she  continued,  as  her  daughter's  steps  drew  near. 

"I  did  to  be  sure,"  returned  Miss  Letitia,  coming  into  her 
mother's  room  and  flinging  herself  into  an  armchair,  "when 
I  was  crossing  the  bridge  it  was.  He  roared  to  me  to  hurry 
you  and  Hannah.  Holy  Mary  Joseph!  How  stiff  I  ami 
That  old  horn  on  the  saddle  has  the  right  leg  cut  off  me!" 

"Well,  never  mind  your  legs  now,"  replied  Mrs.  Mangan, 
peremptorily,  "what  I  want  to  know  is  what  sort  is  this 
young  man  that  Pappy 's  bringing  in  on  top  of  us?  In  God's 
name,  why  couldn't  he  be  let  go  home  to  his  own?" 

"'Young  man'  is  it!"  retorted  Tishy;  "he's  nothing  but 
a  boy  at  school,  and  a  cross  boy  too!  Such  beating  of  his 
pony  as  he  had  when  he  wouldn't  jump  for  him!  Didn't 
I  try  and  make  poor  Zoe  go  before  him,  and  th'  eye  he  cast 
at  her!  I  thought  he'd  beat  me,  too!" 

"Oh,  and  is  a  boy  all  he  is  then  ?"  said  Mrs.  Mangan,  with 
relief  in  her  voice:  "you'd  think  by  the  work  your  father 
had  'twas  the  Lord  Lef tenant  was  in  it!  Run  away  now, 
Tishy,  like  a  good  girl,  and  get  those  clothes  off  you,  and 
help  Hannah  with  Barty's  room.  Boy  or  man  or  whatever 
he  is,  he  must  have  a  bed  under  him!" 

It  was  a  very  deplorable  boy  who  presently  arrived  at  No. 
6,  The  Mall,  Cluhir,  and  was  practically  lifted  off  the  car 
by  the  Big  Doctor.  Francis  Aloysius  Mangan  had  many 
aspects  of  character  of  an  undesirable  kind,  but  they  were 
linked  with  one  virtue,  the  Irish  gift,  of  a  good-natured 
heart.  With  his  enormous  thick  hands,  that  made  Larry  think 
of  a  tiger's  paws,  he  undressed  the  boy  as  cleverly  and  gently 
as  he  had  set  the  broken  bones  of  his  wrist.  Mrs.  Mangan 
and  Hannah  had  not  failed;  the  soup  and  the  jars  were, 
as  the  latter  authority  had  pronounced,  "as  hot  as  love," 
similarly  passioned  was  the  ardour  of  the  whisky-punch, 
with  which  the  proceedings  had  opened.  Combined  with  a 
subsequent  sleeping-draught,  it  conferred  the  boon  of  sleep, 
and  for  some  hours,  at  all  events,  Larry  forgot  his  recently- 


68  MOUNT  MUSIC 

acquired  knowledge  of  what  pain  was.  But  not  for  many 
hours.  In  the  long  darkness  of  the  winter  morning  he  lay 
with  a  fast  mounting  temperature,  while  he  made  the  dis- 
covery, common  to  all  in  his  case,  that  upon  the  particular 
bone  that  has  been  broken,  the  entire  existence  pivots.  And, 
in  addition  to  the  broken  bone,  by  the  time  that  Miss  Frede- 
rica  had  driven  in  from  Coppinger's  Court,  there  was  but 
little  doubt  that  what  Dr.  Mangan  called,  lightly,  "a  touch 
of  pneumonia,"  would  keep  young  Mr.  Coppinger  in  Barty's 
room  for  a  time  unspecified. 

Miss  Frederica  drove  home  again  in  a  seriously  perturbed 
frame  of  mind,  and  with  indignation  against  the  decrees  of 
Providence  hot  within  her. 

"I  wired  for  a  nurse  for  him!"  she  said  to  Lady  Isabel, 
"I  could  not  plant  myself  upon  them!  It's  all  most 
uncomfortable  and  unavoidable.  Of  course  they've  been 
extremely  kind " 

At  the  back  of  Miss  Coppinger's  mind  was  the  wish,  that 
she  trampled  on  whenever  it  stirred,  that  the  Mangans  had 
been  less  unexceptionally  kind  and  Good  Samaritan-like. 
"Such  an  obligation!"  she  groaned;  "they've  turned  their 
own  son  out  of  the  house  to  make  room  for  Larry!  But 
oh,  my .  dear  Isabel,  if  you  could  imagine  what  the  house 
is  like!  The  untidiness!  The  dirt!  Of  course  they're  un- 
speakably kind,  and  Dr.  Mangan  is  certainly  very  clever, 
and  has  managed  Larry  wonderfully,"  went  on  Frederica, 
repenting  her  of  her  evil  speaking,  "and  I  must  say  I  can't 
help  liking  Mrs.  Mangan,  but  the  girl !"  Miss  Cop- 
pinger shut  her  mouth  so  tightly  that  her  lips  became  thin, 
white  lines.  "Keep  the  door  of  your  lips"  was  a  text  which 
she  had  in  her  youth  illuminated  for  herself.  She  often  found 
that  nothing  save  a  sudden  and  violent  slam  would  keep 
that  door  shut,  and,  to  do  her  justice,  the  slams,  when  the 
conversation  turned  on  the  Mangan  household,  were  both 
frequent  and  violent. 

This  was  later,  when  Larry  was  getting  better,  and  when 
his  aunt  had  begun  to  find  the  daily  drive  to  Cluhir  something 


MOUNT  MUSIC  69 

of  a  strain.  It  was  not  until  he  was  practically  convalescent 
that  he  was  permitted  to  receive  other  visitors.  Even  the 
daughter  of  the  house,  and  that  unknown  son,  into  whose 
bedroom  he  had  been  thrust,  were,  for  him,  beneath  the 
surface,  and  their  presence  only  inferential.  Barty  was  domi- 
ciled at  a  friend's,  and  Miss  Tishy  held  aloof,  the  hushed 
voices,  and  general  restraint  imposed  by  illness,  being  not  at 
all  to  her  taste.  Lady  Isabel  came  once,  with  his  aunt,  and 
Christian  crept  shyly  in  behind  them.  Christian  was  wont 
to  be  silent  in  the  presence  of  her  elders.  That  great  and 
admirable  maxim,  once  widely  instilled  into  the  young, 
whose  purport  is  that  children  should  seldom  be  seen  and 
never  heard,  had  early  been  accepted  by  Christian,  without 
resentment,  even,  as  she  grew  older,  with  gratitude.  Having 
diffidently  taken  Larry's  listless  and  pallid  paw,  she  had 
slipped  into  the  background,  and  waited  silently,  while  her 
eager  brain  absorbed  and  stored  every  detail  for  future  medi- 
tation. Long  after  Larry  had  lightly  forgotten  all  save 
the  large  facts  of  his  illness  and  incarceration,  Christian  could 
describe  the  Pope,  whose  highly-coloured  presentment  beatified 
(rather  than  beautified)  the  wall  over  Larry's  bed,  and  could 
imitate,  with  the  accuracy  of  a  phonograph,  the  voice  of 
Mrs.  Mangan,  as  she  issued  her  opinions  on  the  state  of  the 
weather  to  her  distinguished  visitors. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  "touch  of  pneumonia,"  prophesied  by  Dr.  Mangan,  had 
proved  to  be  a  sufficiently  emphatic  one.  Larry's  recovery 
was  slow,  and  during  his  languid  convalescence,  he  found 
himself  becoming  sincerely  attached  to  the  Big  Doctor  and 
Mrs.  Mangan,  and  their  high  place  in  his  affections  was 
shared  by  the  nurse  provided  by  Miss  Coppinger.  The  bond 
of  a  common  faith  was  one  that,  at  this  stage  of  his  develop'  i 
ment,  had  but  little  appeal  to  Larry,  but  he  was,  at  all 
events,  spared  any  possibility  of  suffering  from  the  feelings 
of  sub-friction,  if  not  of  antagonism,  that  inevitably  stirred 
in  his  aunt's  breast,  if  she  found  herself  brought  into  relation 
closer  than  that  of  employer  and  employed  with  those  of  the 
older  creed. 

His  sense  of  beauty,  now  beginning  to  acquire  conscious- 
ness, and  sorely  afflicted  by  the  decorative  scheme  that  had 
been  adopted  in  Barty's  bedroom,  found  solace  in  the  faces 
of  these  two  women.  Even  the  lazy  consideration  of  the 
contrast  between  their  types,  was  a  comfort  to  Larry,  and 
distracted  his  mind  from  the  wall-paper  (which  suggested 
the  contents  of  Dr.  Mangan's  surgery,  rhubarb,  and  mus- 
tard-leaves predominating),  and  from  Barty's  taste  in  art, 
which  in  its  sacred  and  profane  aspects  was  alike  deplorable. 

Nurse  Brennan,  slight  and  fair,  with  the  clearest  of  blue 
eyes,  and  a  Dresden  china  complexion — Larry  was  already 
artist  enough  to  study  and  adore  the  shadow  of  her  white 
coif,  with  its  subtle,  reflected  lights,  on  her  pink,  rose-leaf 
cheek — and  Mrs.  Mangan,  just  a  little  over-blown,  but 
heavily,  darkly  handsome,  with  deep-lidded  shadowy  eyes, 
and — as  Master  Coppinger  pleased  himself  by  discovering— 

70 


MOUNT  MUSIC  71 

a  slight  suggestion  of  a  luxurious  Chesterfield  sofa,  uphol- 
stered in  rich  cream  velvet.  When  he  was  getting  better, 
and  the  rigours  of  the  sick  room  were  relaxing,  these  two 
provided  him  with  interest  and  entertainment  of  which  they 
were  delightfully  unaware. 

"Well,  and  what  will  I  give  him  for  his  dinner  to-day, 
Norrse?" — (impossible  to  persuade  the  English  alphabet  to 
disclose  Mrs.  Mangan's  pronunciation  of  this'  word) — his 
hostess  would  say,  drifting  largely  into  Larry's  room,  and 
seating  herself  on  the  side  of  his  bed. 

"Don't  be  making  an  invalid  of  him  at  all,  Mrs.  Man- 
gan!"  Nurse  Brennan  would  rejoin  briskly;  "I'm  just  telling 
him  I'd  be  sorry  to  get  a  thump  from  that  old  wrist  of  his, 
he  and  the  Doctor  think  so  much  about!  And  he  hasn't 
as  much  as  a  point  of  temperature  those  three  days!" 

"Oh,  I  say,  Nurse!"  Larry  would  protest,  "then  why 
won't  you  let  me  get  up?" 

"Be  quite  now" — (in  Ireland  the  "e"  in  "quiet"  is  not 
infrequently  thus  transposed) — "and  don't  be  bothering  me, 
like  a  good  child !"  Nurse  would  reply,  with  a  sidelong  flash 
of  her  charming  eyes,  a  recognition  of  Larry's  age  and  sex 
that  atoned  for  the  opprobrious  epithet. 

"Would  he  like  a  bit  of  fish  now?  I'm  going  down  the 
town,  and  I  might  meet  one  of  the  women  in  from  Broad- 
haven."  Thus  Mrs.  Mangan,  coaxingly. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Mangan,  please  don't  bother!"  says  Larry. 

"Ah,  no  bother  at  all!  Sure  I  was  going  down  anyway  to 
the  chapel  to  get  a  sup.  of  holy  water.  I  declare  the  house 
is  bone  dry!  Not  a  drop  in  it!" 

After  dreary  winter  mornings  spent  in  reading,  by  the 
light  of  a  misplaced  window,  or  age-long  afternoons,  drowsed 
through  in  that  torpor,  mental  as  well  as  physical,  that  over- 
whelms the  victim  of  a  prolonged  sojourn  in  bed,  Larry  used 
to  find  himself  looking  forward  to  the  conversations  between 
Nurse  Brennan  and  Mrs.  Mangan  that  arose  at  tea-time,  and 
followed,  stimulated  by  the  early  darkness  of  January,  in  the 
firelight;  the  southern  voices  rising  and  falling  like  the 


72  MOUNT  MUSIC 

flickering  flames,  becoming  soon  self-engrossed,  and  forget- 
ful of  the  silent  listener  in  the  bed.  Sometimes  sleep  would 
lap  him  in  slow,  stealthy  peace,  and  the  voices  would  die 
away,  or  come  intermittently,  as  the  sound  of  a  band  march- 
ing through  a  town  fades  and  recurs  at  the  end  of  a  street. 
But  without  being  aware  of  it,  he  was  absorbing  knowledge, 
learning  a  new  point  of  view,  breathing  a  new  atmosphere 
that  was  to  influence  him  more  deeply  than  he  could  have  any 
conception  was  possible. 

One  evening  the  talk  fell  on  the  congenial  topic  of  illness, 
doctors  and  patients,  nurses  and  nuns,  all  spinning  in  the 
many-coloured  whirlpool  of  talk,  now  one  and  now  another 
cresting  the  changing  wave.  The  fact  that  Larry  was  of 
their  own  religion,  counterbalanced  his  belonging  to  an  alien 
class,  and  if  their  consciences  sometimes  hinted  at  a  lack  of 
discretion,  they  quieted  them  with  the  assurance  that  "the 
poor  child  was  asleep!" 

"Ah,  the  nuns  are  wonderful!"  said  Mrs.  Mangan,  lan- 
guishingly.  "Look  how  lovely  they  have  the  Workhouse 
Infirmary !  I  was  taking  some  flowers  to  Reverend  Mother, 
and  she  was  telling  me  what  a  beautiful  death  old  Catherine 
Macsweeny  made.  Reverend  Mother  rained  tears  when  she 
told  me." 

Nurse  Brennan  sniffed. 

"Reverend  Mother's  a  sweet  wToman,  and  the  nuns  are 
very  attentive  when  a  person'd  be  dying,  but  indeed  Mrs. 
Mangan,  if  you  ask  me,  I'd  say  'twas  the  only  time  they 
were  much  use  to  their  patients !  Up  at  that  infirmary  what 
have  patients  at  night  to  look  after  them  only  an  old  inmate, 
and  she  'wanting'  maybe!" 

Larry  began  to  giggle,  and  was  moved  to  try  his  wit. 
"Nurse!    What's  the  difference  between  a  stale  mate  and 
an  old  inmate  ?    And  what  does  it  w'ant  ?" 

"It  wants  the  very  same  as  yourself — brains!"  returned 
Nurse,  swiftly.  "Now  may  be!"  She  wagged  her  head  at 
him  triumphantly,  turning  aside  to  hide  the  smile  of  victory, 
and  Larry  thought  how  lovely  was  her  profile,  as  the  fire- 


MOUNT  MUSIC  73 

light  etched  it  in  incandescent  lines  on  the  smoky  back- 
ground. 

"Well,  indeed,  the  Poor  have  a  deal  to  put  up  with!" 
said  Mrs.  Mangan,  lazily,  leaning  back  in  her  basket-chair, 
with  her  big  grey  cat  purring  like  an  aeroplane  engine  on 
her  knee.  "The  Doctor  says  no  one  but  himself  knows  the 
way  he's  dragged  all  over  the  country,  patching  up  after 
some  of  them  young  fellows  that  get  dispensaries  before 
they're  fit  to  doctor  the  cat!" 

The  reformer,  that  underlay  the  artist  in  Larry,  awoke. 

"But,  Mrs.  Mangan,"  he  said,  hotly,  sitting  up  in  bed, 
and  glaring  into  the  gloom  at  Mrs.  Mangan's  half-seen 
face,  "why  do  they  give  dispensaries  to  chaps  that  can't  doctor 
a  cat?" 

"Because  their  fathers  can  spend  four  or  five  hundred 
pounds  to  buy  votes!"  returned  Mrs.  Mangan,  laughing  at 
him.  "Is  that  news  to  you?  Lie  down  child,  and  don't 
be  looking  at  me  like  that!  /  haven't  a  vote  to  sell!" 

Larry  subsided  with  vague  splutterings.  Nurse  came  to 
his  bedside  and  smoothed  the  clothes. 

"Listen  to  me  now,"  she  said  impressively,  "and  /'//  tell 
you  something  to  make  you  angry,  if  you  like!" 

She  leaned  against  the  foot  of  the  bed,  with  her  hands  in 
the  pockets  of  her  apron,  looking  down  at  him.  "I  was  in 
charge  of  th'  infirmary  at  Mellifont  one  time,  and  late  one 
evening  a  young  farm-boy  was  brought  in  to  me  with  a 
dislocated  foot  and  a  'Pott's  Fracture* " 

"In  the  name  o'  God,  what's  that?"  enquired  Mrs. 
Mangan. 

"Fracture  of  the  fibula,  but  the  case  I'm  speaking  of  had 
the  two  bones  broken  at  the  ankle,"  explained  Nurse  Bren- 
nan,  in  her  most  professional  manner;  "sure  I  thought  any- 
one'd  know  that!  And  I  can  tell  you,"  she  leaned  towards 
Larry,  striking  the  palm  of  her  left  hand  with  her  little 
clenched  right  fist,  as  if  to  hammer  the  words  into  him,  "I 
can  assure  you,  that  as  bad  as  you  thought  you  were,  you 
don't  know  what  pain  is  beside  what  that  boy  suffered  I 


74  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Well,  I  sent  for  the  doctor — a  young  brat  of  a  fella  that 
hadn't  but  just  left  college.  'He'll  want  an  anaesthetic,'  says 

he,  Til  send  down  for  Doctor  '  (I'll  not  tell  you  his 

name — Smith,  I'll  call  him!)  'Do  you  give  him  some 
brandy,  nurse,'  says  he,  'Dr.  Smith'll  be  here  soon.'  Sure 
enough  he  was,  and  glad  I  vras  to  see  him,  for  the  patient 
was  suffering  greatly,  and  the  leg  swelling  every  minyute. 
It  was  a  long  ward  he  was  in,  and  no  one  at  all  in  it  but 
himself.  At  the  far  end  there  was  a  table  and  a  lamp,  and 
down  at  the  table  me  gentlemen  sat,  and  commenced  to 
talk." 

Nurse  Brennan  paused,  and  Mrs.  Mangan  gave  the  fire 
a  well-directed  poke,  that  set  the  flames  branching  upwards. 
The  tale  was  resumed,  in  those  cool  and  equable  tones  that 
express  a  more  perfected  indignation  than  any  heat  or  haste 
could  convey. 

"Well,  that  was  nine  o'clock,  and  they  talked  there  for 
two  hours,  and  I  giving  the  patient  brandy,  and  expecting 
every  minyute  he'd  collapse.  And  what  do  you  suppose 
they  were  talking  about?  Fighting  they  were!  Disputing 
which  of  them  would  perform  the  operation,  and  which 
would  administer  the  chloroform!" 

Mrs.  Mangan  laughed  lightly,  and  said:  "I  wouldn't  at 
all  doubt  it!" 

"Impossible!"  exclaimed  Larry. 

"Not  a  bit  impossible!"  said  Nurse  Brennan,  "and  how 
d'ye  think  they  settled  it  in  the  end?  They  arranged  one 
of  them  would  begin  th'  operation  and  go  on  for  five  min- 
utes, and  then  he  should  stop  and  give  the  anaesthetic,  and 
the  other  would  go  on  with  the  leg!  Oh,  it's  the  case,  I 
assure  you !  It  was  twelve  o'clock  at  night  before  they  were 
done!" 

She  paused,  laughing  a  little  at  the  hot  questions  with 
which  Larry  assailed  her,  but  he  could  see  the  unshed  tears 
gleaming  in  her  eyes.  "I  was  summoned  to  a  private  case 
next  day;  I  don't  know  what  happened  to  the  unfortunate 
poor  creature  of  a  patient." 


MOUNT  MUSIC  75 

"A  stiff  leg  he  has,  I'll  be  bound!"  said  Mrs.  Mangan. 

Larry  lay  silent.  He  saw  it  all.  The  long,  dark  ward, 
the  white  angel  figure  (he  thought,  romantically)  bending 
over  the  tortured  creature  on  the  bed,  and,  far  away,  the 
pool  of  yellow  light  and  in  it  those  two — he  sought  in  vain 
for  adjectives  to  express  what  he  thought  of  Dr.  I'll-not- 
tell-you-his-name,  and  his  young  colleague. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN  the  years  that  followed,  "Larry's  cads"  came  to  be,  for 
the  young  Talbot-Lowrys,  a  convenient  designation  for  the 
friends  into  whose  bosom  Providence  had  seen  fit  to  fling 
their  cousin.  But  Larry  never  either  approved  or  accepted 
it.  He  was  entirely  pleased  with  his  new  friends,  and 
especially  with  that  son  of  the  house  whose  position  he  had 
usurped,  Mr.  Bartholomew  Mangan. 

Barty  was  a  lengthy,  languid,  gentle  youth,  of  nearly  nine- 
teen, darkly,  pallidly  handsome,  sweet  natured,  and  slovenly, 
like  his  mother,  and,  unlike  her,  poetical,  idealistic,  unprac- 
tical, shy,  and  self-conscious.  He  was,  at  this  period,  work- 
ing in  the  office  of  one  of  the  two  solicitors,  who,  with  the 
aid  of  a  branch  of  a  bank,  a  Petty  Sessions  Court,  and  the 
imposing,  plate-glass  bow-windows  of  Hallinan's  hotel, 
enabled  Cluhir  to  convince  itself  of  its  status  as  a  town. 
Further  proof  of  the  civic  importance  of  Cluhir  was  found 
in  the  existence  of  a  debating  club  of  very  advanced  political 
views  among  its  young  men,  of  which  Barty  Mangan  was 
secretary.  Its  membership,  if  small,  was  select,  since  its 
Republican  principles  did  not  compel  it  to  admit  to  its 
privileges  shop-assistants,  or  artisans,  while  they  automatically 
excluded  members  of  the  class  that  were  usually  referred  to 
in  the  club  discussions  as  "Carrion  Crows,"  or  if  the  orator's 
mood  was  mild,  "the  garrison."  In  Ireland  the  attitude  of 
mind  that  is  termed,  alternately,  Disloyalty  or  Patriotism, 
is  largely  a  matter  of  class,  and  Barty  Mangan's  introduc- 
tion of  Master  St.  Lawrence  Coppinger,  as  an  honorary 
member  of  the  club,  partook  of  the  nature  of  a  shock  to  those 
of  the  faithful  who  were  present  at  his  first  appearance  in 
the  club  room,  a  severely  plain  apartment,  that  offered  no 

76 


MOUNT  MUSIC  77 

impediment  in  the  matter  of  luxury  to  high  thinking.  But 
the  faithful  of  the  "Sons  of  Emmet"  Club  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  this  half-fledged  young  Carrion  Crow.  The 
English  school  to  which  Larry  had  been  sent  had  dulled  the 
fire  lit  by  the  poems  of  The  Spirit  of  the  Nation,  but  it  had 
not  extinguished  it.  It  had  flickered  for  a  time,  during 
which  Hunting  had  superseded  Patriotism,  and  Mr.  Jorrocks 
had  reigned  alone;  but  the  oratory  of  the  Sons  of  Emmet, 
to  which  Larry  was  now  privileged  to  listen,  had  had  the 
effect  of  restoring  to  life  and  Vigour  the  long-neglected, 
half-forgotten  tenets  of  the  Companionage  of  Finn.  Larry's 
store  of  enthusiasm  was  quite  equal  to  supplying  motive 
power  for  running  two  engines;  hunting  still  held  its  own, 
and  after  a  club  debate  in  which  he  had  taken  an  energetic 
part,  even  the  most  exclusive  of  the  Sons  of  Emmet  ad- 
mitted that  Barty's  importation  was  worthy  of  the  privilege 
that  had  been  extended  to  him. 

A  spell  of  cold  weather  had  compelled  a  postponement  of 
Larry's  return  to  his  own  home.  When  snow  and  frost  visit 
a  country  unused  to  their  attentions,  they  are  treated  with  a 
respect  that  they  do  not  receive  elsewhere.  The  Doctor's 
orders  were  strict,  and  Larry  spent  the  last  days  of  his  stay 
at  No.  6,  The  Mall,  seated  in  semi-invalid  state  by  the 
dining-room  fire,  occupied,  mainly,  in  the  consumption  of 
literature  provided  by  his  new  friend,  Mr.  Barty  Mangan, 
that  consisted  of  poems,  books,  and  pamphlets  of  precisely  that 
shade  of  politics  of  which  his  family  most  thoroughly  dis- 
approved, and  absorbing  what  would  be,  in  their  opinion,  the 
most  entirely  poisonous  points  of  view. 

The  Big  Doctor,  smoking  a  comfortable  evening  pipe  over 
the  fire,  would  join  in  the  discussions  between  his  son  and 
his  visitor,  offering  just  as  much  opposition  to  Larry's  revo- 
lutionary flights  as  was  stimulating,  and  flattering  his  sense 
of  youth  and  daring. 

"We  mustn't  send  him  back  to  his  auntie  too  much  of  a 
rebel  altogether!"  The  Doctor  would  say,  grinning  at  the 
enthusiast  with  his  pipe  wedged  under  a  tooth;  "isn't  it 


78  MOUNT  MUSIC 

good  enough  for  you  to  be  a  poor  decent  old  Nationalist 
like  myself?  I'm  sure  there's  no  one  would  disapprove  of 
me,  is  there,  Annie?" 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  that  at  all!"  Mrs.  Mangan  would 
reply  coquettishly,  trying  to  look  as  if  she  did  not  agree  with 
him;  "wait  till  his  auntie  hears  the  notions  Larry's  taking 
up  with,  and  she'll  think  we're  all  the  worst  in  the  world! 
And  the  Major!  The  Major'll  go  cracked-mad!" 

"It  doesn't  matter  where  he  goes!"  says  Larry,  defiantly, 
"I've  had  these  'notions,'  as  you  call  them,  for  ages  and 


ages 


"Ah,  God  help  you,  child!"  Mrs.  Mangan  would  probably 
say,  "keep  quiet  now,  till  I  get  you  a  glass  of  hot  milk!" 

Politics  did  not  form  the  only  point  of  contact  that  had 
been  established  between  Larry  and  the  Mangan  household. 
Since  his  promotion  to  comparative  convalescence,  Tishy, 
daughter  of  the  house,  had  entered  more  actively  into  his 
scheme  of  life,  and  the  point  of  entrance  was  music.  Some 
divergence  in  view  as  to  music  is  more  easily  condoned,  on 
both  sides,  than  in  the  other  realms  of  the  spirit.  It  matters 
not  from  how  far  countries  the  travellers  may  come,  or  how 
widely  sundered  may  be  their  ideals,  there  are  rest-houses 
at  which  they  can  draw  rein  and  find  agreement.  One  of 
these,  possibly  the  greatest  of  them,  is  folk  song.  Ireland, 
whose  head  is  ever  turned  over  her  shoulder,  looking  to  the 
past,  has,  in  her  folk  song,  at  least,  reason  and  justification 
for  her  preoccupation  with  what  has  been  in  her  music, 
rather  than  with  what  is,  or  is  to  come.  It  is  difficult  to 
reconcile  the  eternal  beauty  of  traditional  Irish  melody  with 
the  lack  of  musical  interest  and  feeling  that  distinguishes  the 
mass  of  modern  Irish  life.  But,  here  and  there,  a  string  of 
the  harp  that  has  hung,  mute,  on  Tara's  walls  for  so  many 
centuries,  utters  a  sigh  of  sweet  sound,  and  at  Number  6, 
The  Mall,  Cluhir,  the  soul  of  music  had  still  some  power 
of  inspiration. 

This  is,  perhaps,  a  rather  elaborate  method  of  intimating 
that  Dr.  Mangan  played  the  violin,  moderately  as  to  tech- 


MOUNT  MUSIC  79 

nique,  but  soundly  as  to  intonation,  and  that  he  and  his 
family  sang,  as  a  quartet,  not  only  at  charity  concerts,  but 
also  for  their  own  pleasure,  in  their  own  home.  Music,  more 
than  the  other  arts,  demands  sympathy,  and  an  audience.  In 
Larry,  the  Mangan  Quartet  recognised  that  both  require- 
ments were  supplied,  together  with  a  glorifying  enthusiasm 
of  appreciation — though  this  they  scarcely  recognised — that 
gilded  for  him  their  achievements,  as  the  firelight  had  edged 
the  profile  of  Nurse  Brennan  with  pure  gold.  Larry,  it  has 
already  been  said,  had  the  artistic  temperament;  he  had  also 
a  generous  heart,  and  he  was  of  an  age  when  appreciation 
is  spontaneous,  and  criticism  is  either  unborn,  or  is  only  an 
echo  of  some  maturer  mind.  Therefore,  as  he  lay  on  the 
Mangan  blue  rep-covered  drawing-room  sofa,  with  a  satin 
cushion  adorned  with  Tishy's  conception  of  roses,  in  water- 
colour,  under  his  head,  while  pretty  Nurse  Brennan  gently 
massaged  his  wrist,  and  the  Mangan  Quartet  warbled :  "O, 
believe  me  if  all  those  endearing  young  charms,"  or  "When 
thro'  life  unblest  we  rove,"  Larry  passed  into  ecstasy,  that, 
had  he  been  one  degree  less  of  a  schoolboy,  might  have  been 
exhaled  in  tears;  even  as  the  sun  draws  water  from  the 
sea,  in  a  mist  of  glory,  and  returns  it  to  the  world  again  in 
rain. 

Tishy  was  accompanist,  and  sang  alto;  her  mother,  who 
knew  nothing  of  notation,  and  sang  by  ear,  sang  treble; 
Barty  had  a  supple  and  pleasing  tenor,  and  the  Doctor  pos- 
sessed a  solemn  bass,  deep  and  dark  as  a  thundercloud,  yet 
mellow  as  the  hum  of  a  hive  of  honey-bees  on  a  summer 
morning;  a  rare  voice  and  a  beautiful  one,  that  had  its 
counterpart  in  the  contralto  that  already,  at  sixteen  and  a 
half,  had  given  Tishy  power  and  distinction  among  her 
fellows. 

At  this  time,  Miss  Letitia  Mangan's  views,  and  those  of 
her  parents,  as  to  her  future,  musical  or  otherwise,  were 
entirely  divergent.  Hers  held  as  central  figure  a  certain 
medical  student,  with  an  incipient  red  moustache,  and  a 
command  of  boxes  of  chocolate  that  was  bewildering  to  those 


8o  MOUNT  MUSIC 

acquainted  with  his  income.  Quite  other  were  Dr.  Man- 
gan's  intentions  with  regard  to  his  daughter,  but  he  was 
satisfied  to  keep  them  out  of  sight;  he  was  aware  that,  in 
all  solid  buildings,  the  deeper  and  farther  out  of  sight  the 
foundation,  the  more  assured  is  the  result. 

It  is  possible  that  the  idea  of  a  farewell  entertainment  in 
Larry's  honour  emanated  from  the  Big  Doctor;  if  so,  he 
had  erased  his  tracks  very  thoroughly,  and  it  was  regarded 
by  Mrs.  Mangan's  intimates  as  a  final  brandishing  of  her 
trophy  before  she  was  forced  to  relinquish  it.  Larry  was 
indisputably  a  trophy,  and  Heaven  was  considered  to  have 
exercised  a  very  undue  discrimination  in  Mrs.  Mangan's 
favour  when  it  threw  him  into  her  house  and  her  hands.  It 
was  a  very  select  party,  only  a  score  or  so  of  boys  and  girls, 
with  the  elders  appertaining  to  them.  Nurse  Brennan  had 
departed,  taking  with  her  Larry's  young  affections,  and  a  gift, 
costly  and  superfluous,  of  a  silver-mounted  mirror,  which 
was  accompanied  by  some  chaste  lines,  expressive  of  Master 
Coppinger's  desire  to  share  its  privileges,  whose  composition 
had  kept  him  happy  throughout  a  long,  wet  afternoon. 

The  party,  having  opened  with  lemonade,  tea  and  innu- 
merable cakes,  moved  on  through  "a  little  music,"  (con- 
tributed exclusively  by  the  Mangan  Quartet)  to  games. 
Larry,  afflicted  by  the  discovery  that  he  had,  during  his 
illness,  outgrown  his  evening  clothes,  found  himself  fated  to 
do  conspicuous  things  in  the  centre  of  a  space,  cleared  as  for 
a  prize-fight,  in  the  Mangan  drawing-room.  Problems  in 
connection  with  a  ship  that  came  from  China.  Exhausting 
efforts  in  guessing  absurdities,  that  usually  necessitated  with- 
drawal to  the  landing  outside  the  door  with  a  giggling 
schoolgirl,  and  collaboration  with  her  in  a  code  of  compli- 
cated signals.  And,  blackest  feature  of  all,  mistakes  in  any 
of  these  arduous  matters  entailed  "forfeits,"  and  the  process 
entitled  "paying  the  forfeits,"  meant  a  concentration  of 
attention  upon  a  young  gentleman,  conscious  to  agony  of  the 
fact  that  his  trousers  left  his  ankle-bones  unshielded  from 
the  public  gaze. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  81 

It  was  sufficiently  distressing  to  lie  at  full  length  on  the 
carpet,  and  declare  oneself  to  be  the  length  of  a  looby,  and 
the  breadth  of  a  booby,  but  what  was  that  as  compared  with 
sitting,  blindfolded,  on  a  chair,  and  guessing,  among  many 
kisses,  which  had  been  bestowed  by  "the  girl  he  loved  best?" 
As  if  he  lov^d  any  of  them!  These  pert  and  blowsy  school- 
girls, with  hideous  voices,  and  arrogant  curls,  or  crimped 
lion-manes  of  aggressive  hair!  He,  with  "his  heart  set  all 
upon  a  snowy  coif!"  (as  he  chose  to  wrest  Mr.  Yeats'  line 
to  his  own  purposes). 

It  was  singular  in  how  many  of  these  exercises,  of  which 
the  greater  number  included  kissing,  he  found  himself  in- 
volved with  Tishy  Mangan.  Tishy  was  in  a  bad  temper. 
The  red-headed  medical  student  had  not  been  honoured  with 
an  invitation.  Dr.  Mangan  had  struck  his  name  from  the 
list  of  guests  saying  that  they  had  enough  without  him, 
and  Tishy  knew  her  father  too  well  to  protest.  Dr.  Mangan 
was  in  the  habit  of  saying  that  he  always  left  all  household 
affairs  "in  the  hands  of  the  ladies."  He  did  not  add,  as  he 
might  have  done,  that  these  hands  lay  within  his,  and  that 
their  owners  had  long  since  realised  that  it  was  advisable  to 
respond  to  any  indication  of  pressure.  His  daughter,  how- 
ever, while  she  submitted  to  the  inevitable,  saw  no  reason 
why  she  should  deny  herself  the  solace  of  sulking,  nor  of 
avenging  herself  of  his  tyranny  on  "his  fine  pet,"  as  she,  in 
high  indignation,  described  Larry  to  herself.  Master  Cop- 
pinger  might  be  a  man  of  property  and  the  owner  of  Cop- 
pinger's  Court,  yes,  or  Dublin  Castle,  for  all  she  cared! 
Pappy  might  say  what  he  liked,  but  she  wouldn't  be  both- 
ered with  a  boy  like  that!  And  there  was  Ned  Cloherty — • 
(this  was  the  medical  student) — that  she  had  as  good  as 
asked  to  come — and  what  could  she  say  to  him  now,  she 
wondered?  So  Tishy  sulked,  and  resented  the  Hidden 
Hand,  that  so  inevitably  linked  her  with  the  owner  of  Cop- 
pinger's  Court,  as  much  as  did  that  man  of  property  him- 
self. 

The  evening  wore  on;  with   romping,  with   screaming, 


82  MOUNT  MUSIC 

with  enormous  consumption  of  various  foods,  and  with  an 
ever-heightening  temperature,  that  was  specially  noticeable 
among  those  seniors  who  had  not  disdained  the  brew  of 
punch  that  had  coincided  with  the  announcement  of  mid- 
night, made,  with  maddening  deliberation,  by  Mrs.  Mangan's 
cuckoo-clock.  The  usual  delirium  of  cracker-head-dresses 
had  befallen  the  company.  Larry,  decorated  with  a  dunce's 
cap,  placed  upon  his  yellow  head  by  a  jovial  matron,  found 
himself  fated,  by  a  final  effort  of  penalising  fancy  on  the 
part  of  another  matron,  to  select  "a  young  lady,"  to  conduct 
her  to  the  topmost  step  of  the  staircase,  and  there,  on  his 
knees,  to  kiss  either  her  shoe-buckle  or  her  lips;  "which- 
ever he  likes  best!"  decreed  the  matron,  archly. 

It  is  strange  how  the  reserves  and  reticences  of  childhood, 
the  things  that  offend,  the  things  that  bring  agony,  are  for- 
gotten by  so  many  of  those  who  have  left  childhood  behind. 
In  extenuation  of  this  lively  and  kindly  lady,  it  may  be  said 
that  the  manners  and  customs  of  her  early  youth  were  not 
those  to  which  Larry  was  habituated.  Yet,  one  might  have 
thought  that  a  glance  at  Larry's  face  would  have  sufficed  to 
induce  Rhadamanthus  himself  to  remit  the  penalty.  Not 
so  Mrs.  Whelply,  the  arbitrator. 

"Oh,  look  at  the  pout  on  him!  What  a  naughty  boy! 
If  you  don't  take  care,  I'll  put  a  worse  task  on  you!" 

Larry,  oblivious  of  the  dunce's  cap,  feeling  himself  in  the 
grip  of  a  social  machine  that  was  too  strong  for  him,  looked 
round  upon  the  company.  Hot,  pink  faces,  shining  eyes  and 
teeth,  Moenad  hair,  on  all  sides.  Then  he  caught  sight  of 
Tishy's  eyes,  scornful  and  amused,  regarding  him  as  he  stood 
irresolute,  and  his  spirit  responded  to  the  spur  of  contempt. 
He  crossed  the  open  space  of  floor  to  where  she  was  seated 
on  the  blue  rep  sofa,  took  off  the  dunce's  cap  with  a  flourish, 
and,  with  a  low  bow,  offered  her  his  arm. 

A  chorus  of  approval,  weighted  by  the  Big  Doctor's  big 
laugh,  greeted  the  action.  Tishy,  cornered,  accepted  the  arm, 
the  door  was  swung  open  for  them,  and  ostentatiously 
slammed  behind  them. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  83 

Larry,  silent,  and  very  angry,  mounted  the  stairs  quickly, 
and  Tishy  perforce,  her  hand  gripped  by  his  elbow,  followed 
him.  At  the  highest  step  but  one,  Larry  stood  aside,  and 
Tishy  ascended,  and  turning,  faced  him  from  the  top.  They 
looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in  silence.  Both  were 
furiously  angry,  resenting  the  compulsion  that  had  forced 
them  into  an  absurd  position. 

Then  Tishy  said  insolently:  "Well!  Which  will  you 
have?  My  shoe-buckle  or  my  lips?  Take  your  choice!" 

She  poked  her  foot  out  over  the  edge  of  the  step  confi- 
dently. 

A  spark  shot  from  Larry's  angry  heart  to  his  blue  eyes. 
He  looked  up  at  Tishy,  and  something  suddenly  masterful 
awoke  in  him.  Confound  her !  He  wouldn't  have  her  laugh- 
ing at  him! 

"I'll  have  your  lips,  please!"  he  said,  mounting  to  the 
step  beside  her. 

With  schoolboy  roughness  he  flung  his  arm  round  her 
shoulders.  She  was  a  little  taller  than  he,  but  she  did  not 
withdraw  herself;  she  was  curiously  aware  that  her  point 
of  view  was  changing.  She  looked  for  an  instant  in  his 
eyes,  and  then  she  laid  her  lips  on  his. 

Larry  found,  with  surprise,  that  they  returned  the  pressure 
of  his  own  as  he  kissed  her.  The  spark  that  had  been  in 
his  eyes  seemed  to  have  flown  to  his  lips,  and  met  another 
spark  in  hers. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Larry  found  himself  a 
little  out  of  breath,  and  somehow  bewildered.  There  was 
more  in  it  than  he  thought.  He  didn't  quite  know  what  to 
do  next. 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  he  said,  stiffly,  and  offered  his 
arm. 

In  silence  they  walked  down  the  stairs  again.  The  piano 
had  begun,  and  "Sir  Roger  de  Coverley"  was  being  thun- 
dered forth.  At  the  door  they  met  the  Doctor.  Larry  re- 
leased Tishy's  arm. 


84  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  said  to  the  Doctor,  "I  think  I'll 
go  up  to  bed.  I'm  tired." 

After  he  had  got  to  his  room  he  shook  himself,  much  as 
a  dog  renews  its  vitality  by  shaking  its  ears.  Then  he 
poured  some  water  into  the  basin  and  washed  his  hot  face, 
scrubbing  his  lips  with  the  sponge. 

Yet,  to  his  infinite  annoyance,  he  seemed  still  to  feel  the 
pressure  of  Tishy's  warm  mouth  on  hi§. 


CHAPTER  XII 

IT  is,  or  should  be,  superfluous  to  say  that  Miss  Frederica 
Coppinger  viewed  with  disfavour,  that  was  the  more  poignant 
for  its  helplessness,  Larry's  adoption  and  assimilation  by  the 
Mangan  family. 

"Disastrous!"  she  said  in  a  tragic  voice,  to  the  Rector  of 
Knockceoil  parish.  "If  he  were  a  Protestant  it  wouldn't 
matter  so  much;  but,  as  things  are,  for  him  to  be 
thrown  among  these  second-rate,  Nationalistic,  Roman 
Catholics !" 

The  intensity  of  Miss  Coppinger's  emotions  silenced  him. 
She  had  indeed  beaten  her  biggest  drum,  and  she  knew  it. 

The  Rector,  the  Reverend  Charles  Fetherston,  nodded  his 
head  with  solemnity,  and  made  a  conscientious  effort  to  re- 
member what  she  was  speaking  of.  He  was  not  much  in 
the  habit  of  attending  to  what  was  said  to  him,  finding  his 
own  thoughts  more  interesting  than  those  of  his  parishioners. 
The  parishioners,  being  aware  of  this  peculiarity,  put  it  down, 
very  haturally,  to  eccentricity  for  which  he  was  rather  to  be 
pitied  than  condemned,  and  his  popularity  was  in  no  way 
abated  by  it.  Mr.  Fetherston  was  unmarried,  in  age  about 
sixty;  tall,  stout,  red-faced,  of  good  family,  a  noted  wood- 
cock shot  and  salmon  fisher,  a  carpenter,  and  an  incessant 
pipe-smoker.  These  being  his  leading  gifts,  it  will  probably, 
and  with  accuracy,  be  surmised  by  persons  conversant  with 
the  Irish  Church,  that  he  was  a  survival  of  its  earliest  days, 
when  it  was  still  an  avocation  suitable  for  gentlemen,  and  one 
in  which  they  could  indulge  without  any  taint  of  profes- 
sionalism being  laid  to  their  charge.  He  was  immensely 
respected  and  admired  by  the  poor  people  of  the  parish 
(none  of  whom  were  included  in  his  small  and  well-to-do 

85 


86  MOUNT  MUSIC 

congregation),  the  fact  that  he  was  what  is  known  as  "old 
stock,"  giving  him  a  prestige  among  the  poorer  Roman 
Catholics,  that  they  would  have  denied  to  St.  Peter.  He 
shared  with  Major  Talbot-Lowry  the  position  of  consultant 
in  feuds,  and  relieving  officer  in  distress,  and,  being  rich, 
liberal,  easily  bored,  and  not  particularly  sympathetic  to 
affliction,  he  was  accustomed  to  stanch  the  flow  of  tears  and 
talk  alike,  with  a  form  of  solace  that  rarely  failed  to  meet 
the  case,  and  was  always  acceptable.  With  Miss  Coppinger, 
he  felt,  regretfully,  that  five  shillings  could  in  no  way  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  her  problem,  and  with  an  effort  he 
withdrew  his  mind  from  a  new  hinge  that  he  thought  of 
fitting  to  a  garden-gate,  and  applied  it  to  Larry. 

"How  old  is  the  boy  now?  Sixteen  last  October?  He 
doesn't  look  as  much — you'll  see  he'll  outgrow  all  that  non- 
sense of  Nationalism!  Send  him  to  Oxford  as  soon  as  you 
can.  He'll  soon  get  hold  of  some  other  tomfoolery  there, 
and  forget  this.  Seven  devils  worse  than  the  first,  in  fact!" 

The  Reverend  Charles  laughed,  wheezily,  and  began, 
automatically,  to  fill  a  pipe,  an  indication  of  a  change  of 
mental  outlook. 

"Worse?"  cried  Miss  Frederica,  ardently;  "no  indeed, 
Mr.  Fetherston!  Better!  Far  better!  Anything  is  prefer- 
able to  this — this  Second-rate  Sedition!" 

When  Frederica  perorated,  and  this  remark  partook  of 
the  nature  of  peroration,  it  was  as  though  she  took  a  header 
into  deep  water.  By  the  time  she  had  again  risen  to  the 
surface  of  her  emotions,  the  Reverend  Charles  Fetherston  had 
returned  to  the  hinge  of  the  garden-gate,  and  Miss  Cop- 
pinger, knowing  her  man,  made  no  attempt  to  recall  him. 
She  had  a  very  special  regard  for  her  rector,  of  a  complex 
sort  that  is  not  quite  easy  to  define.  There  was  veneration 
in  it,  the  veneration  that  was  inculcated  in  her  youth  for  the 
clergy;  there  was  the  compassion  that  many  capable  and  self- 
confident  women  bestow  upon  any  man  to  whom  Providence 
has  denied  a  feminine  protector;  there  was  a  regretful  pity 
for  his  shortcomings — (but  half-acknowledged,  even  to  her- 


MOUNT  MUSIC  87 

self) — as  a  Minister  of  the  Word,  counterbalanced  by 
respect  for  his  worldly  wisdom ;  above  all,  there  was  the  deep, 
peculiar  interest  that  was  excited  in  her  by  any  clergyman, 
merely  in  virtue  of  his  office,  a  person  whose  trade  it  was  to 
occupy  himself  with  the  art  and  practice  of  religion,  which 
was  a  subject  that  had,  quite  apart  from  its  spiritual  side,  the 
same  appeal  for  her  that  the  art  and  practice  of  the  theatre 
has  for  many  others.  (It  is  hard  to  imagine  any  simile  that 
would  have  shocked  Frederica  more  than  this;  in  all  her 
years  of  strenuous,  straightforward  life,  she  had  never,  as 
she  would  have  said,  set  foot  in  a  theatre.) 

Frederica  had  been  born  at  Coppinger's  Court,  and  she 
had  passed  her  childhood  there,  but  her  youth  had  been  spent 
in  Dublin,  in  the  hot  heart  of  a  parish  devoted  to  good  works, 
and  to  a  pastor  whose  power  and  authority  was  in  no  degree 
less  absolute  than  that  of  any  of  the  "Romish  priests"  whom 
he  so  heartily  denounced.  She  was  brought  up  in  that  school 
of  Irish  Low  Church  Protestantism  that  makes  more  severe 
demands  upon  submission  and  credulity  than  any  other,  and 
yet  more  fiercely  arraigns  other  creeds  on  those  special  counts. 
It  is  quite  arguable  that  Irish  people,  like  the  Israelites  who 
so  ardently  desired  a  king,  enjoy  and  thrive  under  religious 
oppression,  and  it  is  beyond  dispute  that  among  the  oppressed, 
of  both  the  rival  creeds,  are  saints  whose  saintliness  has 
gained  force  from  the  systems  to  which  they  have  given  their 
allegiance.  To  Frederica  the  practice  of  her  cult  both 
inwardly  in  her  heart,  and  outwardly  in  the  work  of  St. 
Matthew's  Parish,  was  the  mainspring  of  her  existence. 
It  was  also  her  pastime.  She  would  analyse  a  sermon,  as 
Dick  Lowry  would  discuss  a  run,  and  with  the  same  eager 
enjoyment.  She  assented  with  enthusiasm  to  the  Doctrine 
of  Eternal  Damnation,  and  a  gentler-hearted  creature  than 
she  never  lived.  She  would  have  gone  to  the  stake  for  the 
Verbal  Inspiration  of  the  Bible;  she  was  as  convinced  that 
the  task  of  Creation  was  completed  in  a  week,  as  she  was  that 
she  paid  the  Coppinger's  Court  workmen  for  six  days'  work 
every  Saturday  evening.  In  short,  the  good  Frederica  was 


88  MOUNT  MUSIC 

a  survival  of  an  earlier  and  more  earnest  period,  and  her 
religious  beliefs  were  only  comparable,  in  their  sincerity  and 
simplicity,  with  those  of  the  Roman  Catholic  poor  people, 
whose  spiritual  prospects  were  to  her  no  less  black  (theo- 
retically) than  were  hers  to  them. 

Those  who  know  Ireland  will  have  no  difficulty  in 
believing  that  Miss  Coppinger  had  no  warmer  sympathisers 
in  her  feelings  concerning  Larry  and  the  Mangan  household 
than  the  Coppinger's  Court  retainers,  despite  the  fact  that 
none  of  them  were  of  her  communion,  nor  did  they  share  her 
political  views.  And  no  less  will  those  who  know  Ireland, 
recognise  that  in  the  Irish  countryside  it  is  the  extremes  that 
touch,  and  that  there  is  a  sympathy  and  understanding  be- 
tween the  uppermost  and  the  lowest  strata  of  Irish  social 
life,  which  is  not  extended,  by  either  side,  to  the  intervening 
one.  Thus,  it  was  that  Frederica  could,  and  did  converse 
with  her  work-people  and  her  peasant  neighbours,  with  a 
freedom  and  an  implicit  confidence  in  their  good  breeding, 
that  it  is  to  be  feared  she  was  incapable  of  extending  to 
Larry's  new  acquaintances  in  Cluhir.  Possibly  the  outdoor 
life,  and  the  mutual  engrossment  in  outdoor  affairs,  explain, 
in  some  degree,  this  sympathy,  but  at  the  root  of  it  is  the 
certainty  on  both  sides,  that  the  well-bred,  even  the  chivalrous 
point  of  view,  will  govern  their  intercourse. 

It  may  seem  somewhat  excessive  to  use  the  word  chivalry 
"In  connection  with  Mrs.  Twomey,  the  Coppinger's  Court 
dairy-woman.  Yet,  I  dare  to  say  that  as  great  a  soul  filled 
the  four  feet  four  inches  that  comprised  her  excessively  plain 
little  person,  as  ever  inspired  warrior  or  fighting  queen  in  the 
brave  days  of  old.  Bred  and  born  under  the  Talbot-Lowrys, 
she  had  crossed  the  river  when  she  married  one  of  the  Cop- 
pinger's Court  workmen,  and  for  close  on  thirty-five  years 
she  had  milked  the  cows  and  ruled  the  dairy  according  to 
her  own  methods,  which  were  as  rigorous  as  they  were  re- 
markable, and  altered  not  with  modern  enlightenment,  or 
conformed  with  hygienic  laws.  Her  husband  was  a  feeble 
creature,  whose  sole  claim  to  distinction  was  his  inability 


MOUNT  MUSIC  89 

to  speak  English.  At  the  time  that  "The  Family,"  (which 
?s,  say,  Frederica  and  Larry)  returned,  he  had  become  quite 
blind,  and  he  passed  a  cloistered  existence  in  a  dark  corner 
of  his  little  cottage,  sitting,  with  his  hat  always  upon  his 
head,  a  being  seemingly  as  withdrawn  from  the  current  of 
life  as  one  of  the  smoky  brown  and  white  china  dogs  on  the 
shelf  above  the  wide  hearth. 

The  legend  ran  that  when  he  was  young,  a  marriage  had 
been  arranged  for  him.  On  the  appointed  wedding-day  he 
had  gone  to  the  chapel,  the  priest  was  there,  and  the  wedding- 
guests,  but  no  bride  came.  Michael  Twomey  therefore,  after 
a  fruitless  exercise  of  patience,  left  the  chapel  in  deep  wrath 
and  humiliation,  and  proceeded  to  walk  home  again.  On 
the  road  he  was  faced  by  a  string  of  laughing  girls,  and 
among  them  there  was  little  Mary  Driscoll.  Mary  had 
then,  no  doubt,  such  grace  as  youth  can  give,  and  that  she 
had,  at  least,  good  teeth,  was  obvious  to  the  disgruntled 
Michael  Twomey,  as  she  was  grinning  at  him  from  ear  to 
ear.  Also,  possibly,  his  sight  may  not  even  then  have  been 
of  the  best.  Be  that  as  it  may,  Michael  caught  at  Mary's 
arm. 

"Come  on  to  the  chapel,  Mary!"  he  shouted  at  her,  in 
the  Irish  that  was  a  more  common  speech  in  those  days  than 
it  is  now;  "The  priest  is  there  yet,  and  the  money  is  in  my 
pocket.  I'll  marry  you!" 

Michael  had  made  c.  luckier  hit  than  he  knew.  Little 
Mary  Driscoll  recognised  the  sporting  quality  of  the  sugges- 
tion, and  being  a  girl  of  spirit  acceded  to  it. 

Mary  had  been  to  America.  She  was  one  of  the  many  of 
her  class  who  put  forth  fearlessly  for  the  United  States, 
adventuring  upon  the  unknown  without  any  of  the  qualms 
that  would  beset  them  were  the  bourne  London,  or  even 
one  of  the  cities  of  their  native  land.  Wasn't  Mary's 
mother's  sisther's  daughter,  and  Maggie  Brian  from  Tullagh, 
and  the  dear  knows  how  many  more  cousins  and  neighbours, 
before  her  in  it?  Didn't  her  brother  that  was  marrit  in  it, 


90  MOUNT  MUSIC 

send  her  her  ticket,  and  wasn't  there  good  money  to  be  aimed 
in  it? 

These  queries,  that,  as  may  be  seen  by  anyone  with  half 
an  eye,  answered  themselves,  having  been  propounded  by 
little  Mary  Driscoll,  she,  roaring  crying,  and  keened  by  all 
her  relatives  to  the  coach-door — no  railway  being  within 
thirty  miles  of  her  home — departed  to  America,  and  was 
swallowed  up  by  "Boyshton"  for  the  space  of  five  years,  dur- 
ing the  passage  of  which,  since  she  could  neither  read  nor 
write,  no  communication  passed  between  her  and  her  parents, 
save  only  the  postal  orders  that,  through  an  intermediary, 
she  unfailingly  sent  them.  Then  there  was  a  month  that 
the  postal  order  came  not,  and  while  the  old  father  and 
mother  were  wondering  was  Mary  dead,  or  what  ailed  her, 
Mary  walked  in,  uglier  than  ever  in  her  Boyshton  clothes,  and 
it  was  gloriously  realised  that  not  only  was  not  Mary  dead 
at  all,  but  that  she  had  as  much  saved  as  would  bury  the  old 
people,  or  maybe  marry  herself. 

Mary  had  not  enjoyed  America.  She  wouldn't  get  her 
health  in  it,  she  said. 

("Ye  wouldn't  see  a  fat  face  or  a  red  cheek  on  one  o'  thira 
that  comes  back,"  assented  Mary's  mother)  ;  and  for  as  little 
as  she  was,  Mary  continued,  she'd  rather  bring  her  bones 
home  with  herself  to  Cunnock-a-Ceoil.  (A  cryptic  phrase 
signifying  that  though  she  recognised,  humorously,  her  own 
unworthiness,  she  still  attached  sufficient  importance  to  her 
person  to  wish  to  bestow  it  upon  the  place  of  her  birth.) 
Not  long  after  her  return  and  restoration  to  health,  the  epi- 
sode of  her  marriage  had  occurred,  and  she  had  settled  down 
into  the  soil  of  Ireland  again,  with,  possibly,  a  slightly  in- 
creased freedom  of  manner,  but,  saving  this,  with  no  more 
token  on  her  of  her  dash  into  the  new  world,  than  has  the 
little  fish  that  lies  and  pants  on  the  river  bank  for  a  moment, 
before  the  angler  contemptuously  chucks  him  into  the  stream 
again. 

Michael  and  Mary  Twomey  had  been  on  the  staff  of 
Coppinger's  Court  for  a  full  thirty  years  when,  in  the  full- 


MOUNT  MUSIC  91 

ness  of  time,  Frederica  returned  to  her  ancient  home,  bring- 
ing with  her  the  young  heir  to  it,  and  all  its  accessory 
tenanted  lands.  Not  Green  Dragon  or  The  Norreys  King- 
at-Arms,  or  any  other  pontiff  of  pedigrees,  could  attach  a 
higher  importance  to  gentle  blood  than  did  little  elderly 
Mary  Twomey,  elderly,  but  still  as  indomitably  nimble  and 
resolute  as  when  in  Frederica's  childhood  she  would  catch 
the  donkey  for  her,  and  run  after  it,  belabouring  it  in  its 
rider's  interest,  for  half  an  afternoon. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Miss  Coppinger's  youth  had  been 
spent,  chiefly,  in  a  town,  the  love  of  the  country,  ingrained 
during  her  first  years,  was  merely  dormant,  and  it  revived 
with  her  return  to  Coppinger's  Court.  The  garden,  the 
farm,  the  hens,  the  cattle,  the  dairy,  were  all  interests  to 
which  she  returned  with  that  renewal  of  early  passion,  that 
has  in  it  the  fervour  of  youth  as  well  as  the  depth  of  maturity. 
She  read  agricultural  papers  insatiably,  and  believed  all  that 
she  read,  accepting  the  verbal  inspiration  of  their  advertise- 
ments with  the  enthusiasm  of  her  religious  beliefs.  She  was 
a  doctrinaire  farmer,  and  she  applied  to  the  garden,  the 
farm  and  the  poultry-yard,  the  same  zeal  and  intensity  that 
had  made  her  in  earlier  days  the  backbone  of  committees, 
and  the  leading  exponent  of  the  godly  activities  of  St.  Mat- 
thew's. She  was  regarded  by  the  heretofore  rulers  of  these 
various  provinces  with  a  mixture  of  respect,  contempt,  and 
apprehension.  She  was  an  incalculable  force,  with  a  pre- 
disposition towards  novelty,  and  novelty,  especially  if 
founded  on  theory,  is  abhorrent  to  such  as  old  Johnny  Galvin 
the  steward,  or  Peter  Flood  the  gardener,  or,  stiffest  in  her 
own  conceit  of  all,  Mrs.  Twomey  of  the  dairy. 

"Master  Larry's  coming  home  from  Cluhir  to-morrow, 
Mary,"  Miss  Coppinger  announced,  with  satisfaction,  to  the 
peculiar  confection  of  grey  hair  and  black  chenille  net  that 
represented  the  back  of  Mrs.  Twomey 's  head,  her  forehead 
being  pressed  against  the  side  of  the  cow  that  she  was 
milking. 

"Thang-aade!"  replied  Mrs.  Twomey  fervently,  express- 


92  MOUNT  MUSIC 

ing  in  this  concise  form  her  gratitude  to  her  Creator  for  what 
she  considered  to  be  Larry's  release  from  a  very  vile  durance. 
"He's  long  enough  in  it  already!" 

"The  Doctor  wouldn't  let  me  move  him  any  sooner," 
replied  Miss  Coppinger,  apologetically. 

"The  divil  doubt  him,  what  a  fool  he'd  be!"  said  Mrs. 
Twomey  with  a  bitter  laugh.  "Aren't  they  all  sayin'  as 
sure  as  gun  is  iron  it's  what  he  wants  that  he'll  see  his 
daughter  in  Coppinger's  Court  before  he  dies!" 

"What  nonsense!"  said  Miss  Coppinger,  warmly;  "I 
should  like  to  know  who  is  saying  it!" 

Mrs.  Twomey,  milking  ceaselessly,  slewed  her  head  a  little 
and  looked  at  her  employer  out  of  the  corner  of  an  eye  as 
bright  and  as  cunning  as  a  hen's,  and  said :  "As  rich  as  your 
Honour  is,  you  couldn't  put  a  penny  into  the  mouth  of  every 
man  that's  sayin'  it!" 

"I'm  surprised  at  you,  Mary,"  said  Frederica,  indignantly, 
"You  ought  to  have  more  sense  than  to  repeat  such  rubbish !" 

To  this  reproach,  Mrs.  Twomey  responded  with  a  long 
and  jubilant  crow  of  laughter. 

"Yerra,  gerr'l  alive — !"  she  corrected  herself  quickly. 
"My  lady  alive,  I  should  say — sure  a  little  thing  like  me'd 
tell  lies  as  fast  as  a  hen'd  pick  peas!" 

The  modesty,  as  well  as  the  accuracy,  of  this  statement 
silenced  Miss  Coppinger  for  a  moment. 

"Then  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself!"  she  re- 
sumed with  much  severity.  "It  is  amazing  to  me  how  a 
decent,  respectable  little  woman  like  you  can  not  only  tell 
lies,  but  boast  of  it!" 

"Ah  ha!  I'm  the  same  owld  three  and  fourpince,  an'  will 
be  till  I  die!"  triumphed  Mrs.  Twomey,  with  another 
screech  of  laughter,  removing  her  tiny  person,  her  milk-pail, 
and  her  stool  from  under  the  cow.  "An'  I  won't  be  long 
dyin'!"  another  screech;  "an"  it  won't  take  many  to  carry 
me  to  Cunnock-a-Ceoil  Churchyard!" 

A  final  and  prolonged  burst  of  mirth  succeeded  this  an- 
nouncement, during  which  the  unrepentant  Three  and  Four- 


MOUNT  MUSIC  93 

pence  swung  the  pail  on  to  the  hook  of  the  swinging-balance 
for  weighing  the  milk  that  was  Miss  Coppinger's  latest  and 
most  detested  innovation. 

"Look  at  that  now  what  she  has  for  you,  Miss!  Shixteen 
pints!  An'  I'll  engage  I'll  knock  thirteen  ounces  o'  butther 
out  of  it!  That's  the  little  bracket  cow  that  yourself  and 
Johnny  Galvin  wanted  to  sell,  an'  I  withstood  ye!" 

This  was  of  the  nature,  jointly,  of  a  counter-attack  and 
of  a  truckle  to  the  system  of  milk-records,  but  Frederica 
heeded  it  not.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  still  somewhat 
discomposed  by  the  insinuations  that  were  more  numerous 
than  the  pennies  she  was  believed  to  possess. 

"I  hope,  Mary,"  she  said,  repressively,  "that  if  you  should 
hear  any  more  talk  of  that  kind  about  Dr.  Mangan,  you 
will  do  your  best  to  contradict  it.  He  has  been  extremely 
kind  to  Master  Larry,  and  it  annoys  me  very  much  that  such 
things  should  be  said." 

Mrs.  Twomey's  supple  mind  was  swift  to  realise  that  a 
change  of  attitude  was  advisable. 

"Why  then,  upon  my  truth  and  body,  I'd  blame  no  one 
that  wanted  Master  Larry !  That  little  fella  is  in  tune  with 
all  the  world!"  she  declared;  "but  those  people  do  be  always 
gibbing  and  gabbing!  Give  them  a  smell,  and  they're  that 
suspeecious  they'll  do  the  rest!  Sure  I  said  to  that  owld 
man  below,  Mikey  Twomey" — thus  dispassionately  was  Mrs. 
Twomey  wont  to  speak  of  her  husband — "I  says  to  him,  that 
your  Honour  was  satisfied  to  leave  Master  Larry  back  in 
Cluhir  till  he'd  be  well  agin.  They  were  all  sayin'  the  child 
wouldn't  be  said  by  ye  to  come  back!  Didn't  I  have  to  put 
the  heighth  o'  the  house  o'  curses  to  it  before  he'd  believe 
me!" 

"Intolerable  nonsense!"  said  Frederica,  hotly, 


CHAPTER  XIII 

PEOPLE  have  said,  retrospectively,  that  the  rise  of  the  Man- 
gan  family  dated  from  the  fall  of  Larry  Coppinger  into  the 
Feorish  River.  This  may,  or  may  not  have  been  the  case, 
but  it  is  certain  that  Mrs.  Mangan's  way  through  the  world 
took  at  about  this  time  an  upward  trend,  and  one  of  the 
most  perceptible  ascending  jerks  was  the  result  of  Lady 
Isabel  Talbot-Lowry's  Sale  of  Work. 

This  function  had  been  ordained  with,  for  object,  the 
provision  of  a  fund  for  the  renovation  of  the  parish  church 
of  Knock  Ceoil,  and  was  obviously  a  matter  without  interest 
for  persons  of  another  denomination.  Lady  Isabel,  and  Miss 
Coppinger,  and  others  of  their  friends  and  neighbours, 
slaved  at  the  provision  of  munitions  for  it,  as  good  women 
will  slave  at  such  enterprises,  squandering  energy  on  the  con- 
struction of  those  by-products  of  the  rag-bag  that  were 
specially  consecrated  to  charitable  purposes  by  the  ladies  of 
their  period. 

"No  one  will  want  to  buy  this  rubbish,"  said  Miss  Cop- 
pinger,  who  never  tried  to  deceive  even  herself,  "but  people 
will  have  to  spend  their  money  on  something,  and  we're  not 
going  to  raffle  bottles  of  brandy — as  they  did  at  that  R.C. 
Bazaar  in  Riverstown !" 

Frederica  could  be  just,  but  when  a  question  of  religion 
intervened,  she  found  it  hard  to  be  generous. 

The  Sale  of  Work  took  place  during  the  September  that 
followed  the  winter  of  Larry's  disaster,  and  it  was  indis- 
putable that  the  Mangan  family  contributed  materially  to 
its  success.  Mrs.  Mangan  was  of  a  class  that  is  accustomed 
to  get  its  money's  worth,  and  was  herself  known  and  re- 

94 


MOUNT  MUSIC  95 

spected  as  an  able  and  inveterate  haggler.  Yet,  at  the  Mount 
Music  Sale,  she  was  content  to  hide  her  talent  beneath  in- 
numerable chair-backs  and  night-dress  cases,  purchased,  un- 
complainingly, at  the  prices  marked  on  them,  and  to  permit 
the  contents  of  an  apparently  inexhaustible  purse  to  flow  in 
a  goldem  stream  from  stall  to  stall.  Her  family  were  no 
less  in  evidence,  the  Big  Doctor  offering  himself  a  cheerful 
victim  on  the  shrine  of  raffles,  even  attaching  himself  to 
Christian  as  a  coadjutor  in  the  sale  of  tickets  for  the  disposal 
of  one  of  Rinka's  latest  progeny.  Mrs.  Mangan's  son  and 
daughter,  something  subdued  by  unfamiliar  surroundings, 
\vere,  on  the  disposal  of  the  puppy-tickets,  taken  in  hand  by 
their  father,  and  were,  with  an  eloquence  that  seemed  meant 
for  a  larger  audience,  made  acquainted  with  the  notable 
objects  of  the  house. 

"If  I  could  get  hold  of  your  mother,  now,"  the  Big 
Doctor  would  say,  "I'd  like  her  to  see  this,"  or  "Look  at 
that  picture,  Tishy!  That's  a  lovely  woman!  The  Major's 
grandmother,  I  believe.  We'll  ask  Miss  Judith — 'pon  my 
honour,  it  might  have  been  done  of  herself!" 

Miss  Judith,  with  a  fruit  and  flower  stall  near  the  portrait 
in  question,  coldly  admitted  the  relationship,  and  ignored 
the  question  of  the  likeness.  Judith  was  of  the  age  of  in- 
tolerance; moreover,  she  was  at  that  moment  in  the  act  of 
selling  a  button-hole  to  Bill  Kirby,  and  the  Doctor's  enthu- 
siam  was  undesired. 

The  little  family  party  moved  on,  while  Dr.  Mangan, 
with  the  ease  of  an  habitue,  indicated  to  his  son  and  daughter 
the  ancestral  portraits  in  the  dining-room,  the  Cromwellian 
arms  on  the  staircase,  the  coats-of-arms,  the  Indian  weapons, 
the  foxes'  masks  in  the  hall.  The  son  and  daughter  received 
the  information  coldly.  It  was  their  first  introduction  to 
the  interior  of  Mount  Music,  and  while  Tishy  was  filled 
with  a  great  resolve  to  be  impressed  by  nothing,  Barty  was 
silenced  by  those  tortures  that  unfamiliar  surroundings  have 
power  to  inflict  upon  the  shy. 

In  his  determination  to  instruct  his  young  in  all  the  pos- 


96  MOUNT  MUSIC 

sible  objects  of  interest,  Dr.  Mangan  strolled  away  from  the 
crowded  scene  of  the  sale,  and  led  them  down  the  long  pas- 
sage, dedicated  to  sporting  prints,  that  led  to  the  library. 

"There's  a  picture  there  that's  worth  seeing,  of  a  Meet 
at  Coppinger's  Court  in  the  time  of  Larry's  grandfather," 
he  announced  impressively,  as  he  opened  the  door.  "The 
Talbot-Lowrys  and  the  Coppingers  were  always  fine  sports- 
men  " 

A  tall  old  screen  stood  between  the  door  and  the  fireplace; 
from  behind  it  a  hunted  voice  said: 

"Who  the  devil's  there  now?" 

Dr.  Mangan  thought,  complacently:  "My  diagnosis  was 
correct!"  Aloud  he  said  to  his  son  and  daughter,  in  a  tone 
of  hoarse  consternation:  "To  think  of  our  blundering  in  on 
the  Major  like  this!  Here!  Away  now,  the  pair  of  you!" 

He  advanced  from  behind  the  screen. 

"Major!  My  most  humble  apologies!  I  never  thought 
of  you  being  here !  I  was  showing  that  boy  and  girl  of  mine 
some  of  your  beautiful  things." 

Major  Talbot-Lowry  was  unlike  his  daughter  Judith  in 
many  things,  and  not  least  in  his  easy  sufferance  of  those 
whom  she,  in  youthful  arrogance,  called  cads. 

"Come  in,  Doctor,  and  have  a  cigar  in  peace,"  he  said, 
hospitably,  putting  on  one  side  the  novel  he  was  reading. 
"I  thought  you  were  Evans,  or  one  of  the  maids,  coming  to 
bother  me.  This  damned  show  has  turned  the  house  upside 
down!" 

"Well,  it  seems  a  great  success,"  said  Dr.  Mangan 
cordially. 

"Very  good  of  you  to  come,"  responded  his  host,  "more 
especially  when  it's — er — it's — er — such  a  purely  local 
affair " 

Dr.  Mangan  understood  that  he  was  receiving  the  meed 
of  religious  tolerance. 

"Well,  Major,"  he  said,  expansively,  "I  lived  long 
enough  one  time  in  England  to  learn  that  we  mustn't  give 
in  too  much  to  the  clerical  gentlemen!  My  own  instinct  is 


MOUNT  MUSIC  97 

to  be  neighbourly,  and  to  let  my  friends  mind  their  own 
religion." 

"Quite  so,  quite  so,"  said  Major  Dick,  magnanimously, 
forgetting,  for  the  moment,  those  epithets  that,  in  his  more 
heated  moments,  he  was  accustomed  to  apply  to  the  min- 
isters of  the  Church  to  which  he  did  not  belong.  "Quite 
so,  Doctor.  I'm  all  for  toleration,  and  let  the  parsons  fight 
it  out  among  'em !  Busy  men,  like  you  and  me,  haven't  time 
to  worry  about  these  affairs — we've  other  things  to  think 
about!"  He  stretched  a  long  arm  for  a  box  of  cigars,  and 
handed  it  to  his  visitor;  "sit  down  for  a  bit.  There's  no 
hurry.  The  ladies  can  have  it  all  their  own  way  for  a 
while!" 

Dr.  Mangan  lowered  his  huge  person  into  an  armchair  of 
suitable  proportions,  and  for  some  moments  smoked  his  cigar 
in  appreciative  silence.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  plan- 
ning an  approach  to  the  subject  that  had  instigated  his  visit 
to  the  library,  but  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  begin  upon  it, 
remembering  that  the  longest  way  round  is  often  the  shortest 
way  home. 

"By  the  way,  Major,"  he  said,  taking  the  cigar  from  his 
mouth,  and  regarding  it  with  affection,  "did  some  one  tell 
me  that  you  were  looking  for  a  farming  horse?" 

"If  they  didn't,  they  might  have,"  replied  Dick. 
"McKinnon's  at  me  to  get  another.  I  was  going  to  ask  you 
itf  you  knew  of  anything?" 

"Well,  now,  that's  funny.  I  was  wondering  to  myself  this 
morning  what  I'd  do  with  that  big  brown  horse  of  mine. 
He'll  not  go  hunting  again,  he  never  got  the  better  of  that 
hurt  he  got.  But  he's  the  very  cut  of  a  farm-horse.  You 
tee,  the  poor  devil  had  to  carry  me!"  ended  the  Big  Doctor, 
with  a  laugh  at  himself. 

"I'll  tell  McKinnon  of  him.  He  wants  a  horse  that 
will — "  a  recital  of  the  accomplishments  exacted  by  Dick's 
steward  followed. 

Dr.  Mangan  listened  with  attention. 

"Tell  McKinnon  he'd  better  have  him  over  on  trial.     I 


98  MOUNT  MUSIC 

know  him  and  his  requirements!  The  horse  mightn't  be 
able  to  play  the  piano  for  him!"  said  the  Doctor,  facetiously. 
"I'm  not  afraid  of  you,  Major,  but  I've  a  great  respect  for 
Mr.  McKinnon!" 

"Oh,  I'll  tell  old  Mack  he'll  be  lucky  to  get  him,"  said 
Dick,  with  his  pleasant  laugh;  "you  and  I  will  strike  the 
bargain !" 

The  approach  had  been  pegged  out,  and  Dr.  Mangan 
turned,  for  the  moment,  to  other  subjects. 

It  was  a  damp  and  sodden  day  near  the  beginning  of 
September,  and  a  comfortable  turf  fire  centralised  and  gave 
point  to  the  room,  as  a  fire  inevitably  does.  Major  Talbot- 
Lowry  was  in  the  habit  of  saying  that  the  day  of  the  month 
never  warmed  anybody  yet,  and  if  it  was  only  for  the  sake 
of  the  books — the  truth  being  that  the  library  fire  at  Mount 
Music  had  never,  in  the  memory  of  housemaid,  been  extin- 
guished save  only  when  "the  Major  was  out  of  home."  Dick, 
like  most  out-of-door  men,  considered  that  fresh  air  should  be 
kept  in  its  proper  place,  outside  the  walls  of  the  house,  and 
an  ancient  atmosphere,  in  which  the  varied  scents  of  turf, 
tobacco,  old  books,  and  old  hound-couples,  all  had  their  share, 
filled  the  large,  dingy  old  room.  Dusty  and  composite 
squirrel-hoards  of  objects  that«  defy  classification,  covered 
outlying  tables,  and  lay  in  heaps  on  the  floor,  awaiting  that 
resurrection  to  useful  life  that  Major  Talbot-Lowry's  faith 
held  would  some  day  be  theirs,  and  were,  in  the  meantime, 
the  despair  and  demoralisation  of  housemaids. 

Deep  in  the  bearskin  rug  in  front  of  the  fire  (a  trophy  of 
one  of  the  rifles  that  filled  a  glass-fronted  case  over  the 
mantel-shelf)  lay  the  two  little  fox-terriers,  Rinka  and 
Tashpy,  in  moody  and  determined  repose.  For  a  brief  period 
of  suffering  they  had  attempted  to  cleave  to  Christian;  but 
as  the  throng  grew,  and  the  time  for  tea  lingered,  they  had, 
in  high  offence,  betaken  themselves  to  their  ultimate  citadel, 
the  library. 

"I  suppose  it  was  her  pup  I  was  raffling  awhile  ago," 
remarked  Dr.  Mangan,  presently,  as  Rinka  languidly  rose, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  99 

and  having  stretched  herself,  and  yawned,  musically  and 
meretriciously,  put  her  nose  on  his  broad  knee,  deliberating 
as  to  whether  the  distinction  of  a  human  lap  outweighed  the 
lowly  comfort  of  the  bearskin. 

"Doggie !  Poor  doggie !  Down,  now,  down !"  Dr.  Man- 
gan  had  no  idea  how  to  talk  to  dogs,  and  he  did  not  wish 
Rinka  to  sit  on  his  best  grey  trousers. 

"Hit  her  a  smack!"  said  Major  Dick;  "don't  let  her  bother 
you.  Christian  has  spoilt  these  dogs  till  they're  perfect 
nuisances!  Yes,  it's  her  pup.  Who  won  it?  It  ought  to  be 
a  clinker;  it  was  the  best  of  the  lot " 

"I  d'no  did  they  draw  for  it  yet.  I  took  three  tickets  for 
it  myself,"  said  the  Doctor.  "I  want  it  for  a  sort  of  a  cousin 
of  me  own — a  very  sporting  chap  that's  coming  to  Cluhir; 
he  asked  me  could  I  get  him  a  dog." 

"What's  he  going  to  do  in  Cluhir?"  asked  Dick,  carelessly. 

The  approach  was  now  clear,  and  Dr.  Mangan  began  to 
advance. 

"Well,  he's  just  taken  his  degree.  He'r  a  doctor,  and  he's 
coming  here  for  a  while.  He  can  give  me  a  help  while  he's 
looking  out  for  a  dispensary.  He'd  like  some  place  where 
he'd  get  a  little  hunting  now  and  then.  I  expect  you  know 
his  father,  Major — old  Tom  Aherne,  of  Pribawn " 

Major  Talbot-Lowry  became  more  interested. 

"You  don't  say  old  Tom's  son  is  a  doctor!  By  Jove! 
That's  very  creditable  to  him — a  decent  old  fellow  Tom  was 
— and  you  say  he  wants  to  hunt?  That's  the  right  sort  of 
doctor!  Look  here!" 

Dick  sat  up,  the  light  of  inspiration  woke  in  his  ingenuous 
blue  eyes,  he  wrinkled  his  forehead  with  the  super-intelligent 
concentration  of  a  not  very  brilliant  intellect.  "Didn't  I 
hear  that  old  Fogarty  is  giving  up  the  Dispensary  here? 
Why  don't  you  run  him  for  that?"  . 

The  shepherding  of  Dick  Lowry  was  really  an  affair  of  a 
simplicity  unworthy  of  preparation  made  by  that  ruse  old 
collie,  the  Big  Doctor.  Nevertheless,  being  an  artist,  he  con- 
tinued to  play  the  game. 


ioo  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"Knock  Cecil!  Begad,  that's  a  great  notion!  Now  I 
come  to  think  of  it,  I  did  hear  something  of  old  Fogarty 
giving  up,  but  somehow  I  never  thought  of  young  Danny 
Aherne  in  connection  with  it.  I  thought  I  was  as  well  able 
as  any  man  to  put  two  and  two  together,  but  I  declare  I 
might  never  have  thought  of  it  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you! 
They  say,  if  you're  too  close  to  a  thing,  you  can't  see  it!" 

Thus  did  the  collie  yap,  while  the  sheep  (who  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Dispensary  Committee)  gratified,  and  pleasantly 
conscious  of  originality,  trotted  up  the  path  and  into  the  fold 
that  had  been  prepared  for  it. 

Meanwhile,  in  what  house-agents  call  the  reception- 
rooms,  the  Sale  of  Work  raged  on,  with  auctions,  with  raffles, 
with  card-fortunes,  told  in  a  cave  of  rugs  by  a  devoted 
sorceress,  in  a  temperature  that  would  inure  her  to  face  with 
composure  the  witch's  destiny  at  the  stake;  with  "occasional 
music,"  that  fell  upon  the  turmoil  of  talk  more  softly  than 
any  petals  from  blown  roses  on  the  grass,  and  was  just 
sufficiently  perceptible  to  impart  the  requisite  flavour  of 
festivity.  One  item  of  the  musical  programme  had  indeed 
had  power  to  still  the  storm,  but  since  it  was  contributed 
by  the  Mangan  Quartet,  it  must  be  admitted  that,  charming 
though  it  was,  it  owed  something  of  its  success  to  surprise. 
The  countryside  had  rallied  to  Lady  Isabel  with  a  response 
that  did  credit  to  her  as  to  them,  yet,  thronged  though  the 
rooms  were  the  Mangan  family  shone  with  a  unique 
lustre  as  alone  representing  the  mighty  Church  of  Rome. 

"Wonderful  of  them  to  come!"  said  the  Church  of  Ire- 
land ladies  approvingly;  "the  only  R.C.'s  here!" 

Yet  the  Mangan  family  was  not  quite  alone  in  this  repre- 
sentative position;  young  Mr.  Coppinger,  their  (as  it  were) 
inventor  and  patentee,  shared  it  with  them,  and  was,  more- 
over, beginning,  for  the  first  time,  and  not  without  displeas- 
ure, to  realise  something  of  the  social  complications  that  are 
involved  by  the  difference  of  creed.  It  was  a  matter  of 
atmosphere;  quite  intangible,  and  quite  perceptible.  Larry 
was  discovering  that  he  was  something  of  an  anomaly.  "Only 


MOUNT  MUSIC  101 

an  R.C.  by  accident,"  as  he  had  heard  someone  say,  in  ap- 
parent extenuation  (a  benevolence  that  he  found  irritating). 
He  was  learning  the  meaning  of  the  sudden  silences,  the  too 
obvious  changes  of  the  course  of  conversation,  that  seemed  to 
occur  when  he  drew  near.  He  had  not,  as  yet,  formulated 
these  things  to  himself,  but,  on  this  turbulent  afternoon, 
it  was  possibly  some  livelier  apprehension  of  them  that 
made  him  gravitate  towards  Barty  Mangan,  as  towards  a 
fellow  pariah,  and  induced  him  to  seek  with  him  the  far 
asylum  of  the  schoolroom.  There,  save  for  the  schoolroom 
cat,  they  were  alone,  and  they  sat  for  some  minutes  in  grate- 
ful silence,  looking  out,  across  misty  stretches  of  grass,  to 
the  river,  and  beyond  it  to  the  dense  green  of  the  trees  of 
Coppinger's  Court.  The  sky  was  very  low  and  grey;  by 
leaning  out  of  the  window  a  little,  a  far-off  reach  of  river, 
at  the  western  end  of  the  valley,  could  be  descried;  above 
it  there  was  a  narrow  slit  in  the  clouds,  and  through  it  a 
faint  and  lovely  primrose  light  fell,  like  a  veil,  that  hid, 
while  it  told  of  the  deathbed  repentance  of  the  dying  day. 
Larry  dragged  his  chair  into  the  corner  of  the  window,  and 
watched  the  growing  glory  of  the  sunset  with  all  his  ardent 
soul  in  his  eyes. 

Whatever  this  boy  did,  he  did  vividly,  and  to  Barty  Man- 
gan, seated  on  the  shadow  side,  watching  him,  he  was,  as 
ever,  a  pageant,  a  being  of  incalculable  impulse,  of  flashing 
intensity  and  splendour. 

"Where  on  earth  did  you  go,  Barty?  I  looked  about  for 
you  for  ages  before  I  found  you;  but  there  was  such  an 
awful  crowd  of  women — I'm  jolly  glad  to  get  out  of  it!" 
Larry  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  proceeded  to  light  a 
cigarette,  as  an  assertion  of  the  rights  of  a  man  of  nearly 
seventeen. 

"My  father  was  taking  Tishy  and  me  about,  showing  us 
the  house,"  replied  Barty,  apologetically.  (As  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  said  "me  fawther,"  but  if  this,  and  similar  details 
of  pronunciation,  are  not  known  by  nature,  it  is  labour  in 
vain  to  attempt  to  indicate  them  by  means  of  the  wholly  in- 


102  MOUNT  MUSIC 

adequate  English  alphabet.)  "Larry,"  he  went  on,  with  the 
candour  that  made  a  gentleman  of  him,  "I  never  was  in  a 
house  like  this  before.  I  declare  to  you  it  frightens  me!  I 
feel  like  a  rat  gone  astray!  I  was  in  the  dining-room  by 
myself,  looking  at  the  pictures,  and  that  old  fella'  of  a  butler 
came  in  and  frightened  the  heels  off  me!  He  kept  an  eye 
on  me  that  was  like  a  flame  from  a  blow-pipe!  You'd  say 
he  thought  I  was  going  to  steal  the  house!" 

"I  expect  he  did,  too,"  said  Larry,  "especially  if  he  thought 
that  you  were  a  pal  of  mine.  He  hates  me  like  blazes. 
He's  one  of  those  damned  Orangemen.  I  say,  do  you  re- 
member that  thing  in  The  Spirit  of  the  Nation,  'Orange 
and  Green  will  carry  the  Day'?  I  bet  old  Evans  would 
rather  lose,  any  day,  than  be  'linked  in  his  might'  with  a 
Papist  like  you  or  me !  It's  a  most  extraordinary  thing  how 
religion  plays  the  devil  with  Ireland!" 

There  are  certain  standard  truisms  that  must  be  redis- 
covered by  each  successive  generation  (possibly  because 
they  have  bored  the  preceding  one  to  extinction),  and  Larry 
was  of  the  age  at  which  truisms  reveal  themselves  as  new 
ideas,  and  sing  and  shine  with  the  radiancy  of  morning  stars. 
He  was  also  young  enough,  and  just  sufficiently  interested  in 
religion,  to  find  it  exciting  to  denounce  it.  The  fervour  of 
his  indictment  lifted  him  from  his  chair,  and  he  stood,  with 
the  evening  light  on  his  hot  face,  enjoying  his  theme,  and  his 
audience. 

"I  stayed  with  some  people  in  England  last  holidays, 
friends  of  my  people's;  Protestants  they  were,  too — 'Sour- 
faces,'  as  the  'Leader'  calls  them! — and  they  didn't  give  a 
blow  what  religion  I  was !  That  was  my  affair,  they  thought 
— and  so  it  was,  too!  Not  like  this  crowd  here — I  don't 
mean  my  own  people,  you  know,"  he  added  hastily,  "they're 
all  right!" 

"Oh,  I'm  sure!"  said  Barry,  in  instant  assent. 

"I  hate  England,  of  course,"  continued  the  student  of  The 
Spirit  of  the  Nation,  hurriedly,  "but  I  must  say  I  get  sick 


MOUNT  MUSIC  103 

of  this  eternal  blackguarding  of  Catholics  by  Protestants, 
and  Protestants  by  Catholics " 

"Ah,  they  don't  mean  it  half  the  time!"  put  in  Barty, 
pacifically;  "it's  just  a  trick  they  have! ' 

"Well,  I  don't  care,"  said  Larry,  who  didn't  like  being 
interrupted,  with  a  fling  of  his  head;  "they  shouldn't  do  it! 
I  hear  people  shutting  up  when  I  come  into  the  room — just 
as  if  I  didn't  jolly  well  know  they  were  abusing  the  priests 
or  something  like  that.  And  if  they  only  knew  it,  /  don't 
care  a  curse  how  much  they  abuse  them!" 

He  took  an  angry  pull  at  his  cigarette,  glaring  at  the 
unoffending  Barty.  "  '  'Tisn't  the  man  I  respects,  'tis  the 
office!'  That's  what  Mrs.  Twomey  said,  when  I  was  chaf- 
fing her  for  dragging  gravel  up  from  the  river  to  put  in  front 
of  her  house,  because  the  priest,  whom  she  loathes,  was  going 
to  have  a  'station'  there!" 

The  orator  paused  for  breath,  as  well  as  for  the  duty  of 
keeping  his  cigarette  alight. 

"Well,  and  isn't  she  quite  right,  too?"  said  Barty.  "I've 
no  great  fancy  for  Father  Greer,  but  that  doesn't  affect  my 
feeling  for  the  Church." 

He  rose,  and  resting  his  elbows  on  the  window-sill,  leaned 
out  into  the  still  air. 

"By  Jingo!  You  don't  often  see  the  beat  o'  that  for  a 
sky!  Look  at  it,  Larry.  There's  Orange  and  Green  for 
you,  if  you  like!  God!  I  wish  we  could  get  them  to  work 
together  like  that!" 

One  of  those  transformation  scenes  that  sometimes  follow 
on  an  overcast  and  rainy  day,  was  happening  in  the  west. 
The  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  hills,  the  grey  clouds  had 
vanished;  the  higher  heaven  was  green,  clear  and  pale,  but 
low  in  the  west,  long  and  fleecy  rollers  of  golden  cloud  lay 
in  a  sea  of  burning  orange. 

At  about  the  same  time,  the  golden  stream  that  had  flowed 
so  generously  from  Mrs.  Mangan's  purse,  had  failed,  and 
Mrs,  Mangan,  her  arms  full  of  the  fruit  of  those  Christian 


104  MOUNT  MUSIC 

graces  of  Faith,  Hope  and  Charity,  that  are  indispensable  to 
the  success  of  a  bazaar,  was  asking  Evans  to  order  for  her  her 
"caw,"  by  which  term  she  indicated  the  vehicle  that  had 
conveyed  her  to  the  scene  of  her  triumph. 

For  it  was  evident   to   the  meanest  capacity   that   Mrs. 
Mangan  had  now  paid  her  footing  in  society. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

"Go  away  from  me,  Miss  Christian !"  shouted  Mrs.  Twomey 
(but  this  was  merely  an  ejaculation  of  pleased  surprise,  not 
to  be  taken  literally).  "Go-to-God-he-did-not!" 

"He  did,  indeed,  Mrs.  Twomey!"  replied  Christian,  root- 
ing at  her  habit  pocket,  and  extracting  her  purse.  "He 
said  that  he'd  won  the  scholarship,  and  he  knew  you  were 
praying  hard  for  him  or  he  wouldn't  have  got  it,  and  he 
said  I  was  to  give  you  this,  with  his  love." 

"This"  was  a  golden  sovereign,  a  coin  that  did  not  often 
in  its  beauty  and  entirety  come  Mrs.  Twomey's  way. 

She  curtseyed  so  low  that  since — as  has  been  said — she  was 
but  little  over  four  feet,  Christian  had  to  lean  low  over 
Harry's  withers  in  order  to  drop  the  sovereign  into  her  hand. 

"That  the  sun  may  shine  on  his  soul,  my  lovely  gentle- 
man !  That  he  may  never  want  crown,  pown',  nor  shi'n,  nor 
you  nayther!  The  Kingdom  o'  Heaven  is  your  due,  the  pair 
of  yee,  and  may  yee  be  long  going  there!  Amin!" 

A  silent  and  prayerful  moment  followed  on  the  benedic- 
tions, and  Mrs.  Twomey's  bright  little  eyes  rolled  devoutly 
heavenwards.  This  concession  to  the  solemnity  of  the  occa- 
tion  disposed  of,  the  beneficiary  became  normal  again. 

"Look!"  she  resumed,  while  she  bestowed  the  sovereign 
in  an  incredibly  old  bag-purse  with  a  brass  rim;  "tell  him 
there's  always  one  foolish  in  a  family,  and  what  it  is  with 
Masther  Larry,  he's  too  give-ish!  That's  what  he  is!" 

'"You  can  tell  him  so  yourself,"  replied  Christian.  "He'll 
be  home  in  a  week." 

"Very  good,  faith!  There's  a  welcome  before  him  what- 
ever time  he'll  come!  Sure  I  thought  he'd  be  kept  back  in 
England  till  the  Christmas?" 

105 


io6  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"He's  finished  with  school  now,"  said  Christian.  "He's 
going  abroad  for  a  bit  after  Christmas,  and  then  he's  going 
to  Oxford!" 

The  glory  in  Christian's  voice  conveyed  more  to  Mrs. 
Twomey  than  any  statement  of  fact  could  achieve. 

"Well,  well!  I'm  proud  out  of  him,  the  poor  child!  But 
I  wisht  it  was  home  in  his  own  house  he  was  to  be,"  she 
replied,  raising  her  skirt,  and  stuffing  the  purse  into  a  large 
pocket  that  hung  round  her  waist  over  a  red  flannel  petti- 
coat; "ha  n't  he  lessons  enought  learnt?" 

"Oh,  but  he  loves  going  to  Oxford,  Mrs.  Twomey,"  said 
Christian;  "he's  looking  forward  to  it  awfully;  and  I'm 
going  to  France  to  do  lessons,  too!  I'll  be  talking  French 
to  you,  Mrs.  Twomey,  when  I  come  back!" 

Mrs.  Twomey  uttered  a  screech  of  well-simulated  horror. 

"For  God's  sake,  child,  do  not!"  she  exclaimed;  "didn't 
I  know  one  o'  thim  in  Boyshton,  a  docther  he  was,  and  a 
German.  He  had  as  many  slishes  and  sloshes  as'd  fill  a 
book!  Sure  I  thought  I'd  lose  me  life  thrying  could  I  make 
off  at  all  what  he  said  to  me !" 

"Well,  I  shall  be  slishing  and  sloshing  to  you  when  I  come 
home,  Mrs.  Twomey!"  said  Christian,  who  was  skilled  in 
converse  with  such  as  Mrs.  Twomey;  "but  it  will  be  in 
French.  I  suppose  you  talked  German  to  your  Boston 
doctor?" 

"H'th  indeed!  Little  enough  I  said  to  him!  I  never 
had  anny  wish  for  thim  docthors  at  all.  Look  at  the  little 
rakeen  that's  after  gettin*  the  Dispinsary  at  Cunnock-a- 
Ceoil !  Three  hundred  pound  the  father  ped  for  it  for  him ! 
A  low,  hungry  little  fella,  that'd  thravel  the  counthry  for 
the  sake  of  a  ha'penny — God!" 

The  flow  of  Mrs.  Twomey's  eloquence  ceased  in  shock,  as 
Major  Talbot-Lowry  and  Miss  Coppinger  emerged  from  the 
dairy  behind  her. 

"Well,  Mary,"  said  Dick,  "who  is  it  who's  so  hard  up 
for  ha'pence?" 

Mrs.  Twomey's  equanimity  was  not  slow  to  re-establish 


MOUNT  MUSIC  107 

itself.  She  and  the  Major  were  "the  one  age,"  and  they  had 
grown  up  together. 

"Why  then,  your  Honour  knows  him  well,  and  too  well !" 
she  snapped  at  him,  looking  up  his  long  length  to  his  hand- 
some, good  natured  face,  much  as  a  minute  female  cur- 
dog  might  look  and  snap,  presuming  on  her  sex,  at  a  Great 
Dane.  "It's  the  new  little  docthor,  Danny  Aherne,  that 
your  Honour  is  afther  putting  in  the  Dispinsary!" 

"Oh,  that  poor  little  fellow?"  said  Dick,  laughing,  but 
with  a  touch  of  discomposure;  "/  didn't  put  him  there. 
What's  the  matter  with  him,  any  how?  Why,  he  hasn't 
been  at  the  job  three  months!  Give  the  man  time,  Mary, 
give  him  time!  I'll  engage  you'll  all  be  in  love  with  him 
by  this  time  next  year!" 

Mrs.  Twomey  glanced  at  Miss  Coppinger,  and  replied 
with  decorous  piety: 

"God  grant  it!" 

She  then,  with  an  admirable  assumption  of  respect  for 
her  superiors,  and  zeal  for  her  office,  moved  past  her  visitors 
into  the  dairy. 

Dick  Talbot-Lowry  hesitated  a  moment  or  two,  then  he 
laughed  again,  and  strode  after  her  into  the  dark  dairy; 
Miss  Coppinger  followed  him.  Mrs.  Twomey,  a  tiny  and 
almost  imperceptible  bundle,  was  already  on  her  knees  in  a 
corner,  scrubbing  a  glistening  metal  churn,  and  so  engrossed 
in  her  task  as  to  be  unaware  of  her  visitors. 

"Look  here,  Mary,"  began  the  Major,  with  a  touch  of 
severity;  "what's  all  this  about  Doctor  Aherne?" 

Mrs.  Twomey  rose  from  her  knees,  dried  her  little  scarlet 
claws  in  her  apron,  and  stood  to  attention.  Having  opened 
the  debate  by  calling  fervently  upon  her  God  to  witness  that 
she  knew  nothing  of  the  matter,  she  proceeded,  like  a  solo 
-pianist,  to  run  her  fingers,  as  it  were,  lightly  over  the  keys. 
Passing  swiftly  from  her  own  birth,  upbringing,  invincible 
respectability,  and  remoteness  from  all  neighbours,  or  knowl- 
edge of  neighbours,  she  coruscated  in  a  cadenza  in  which  the 
families  of  Talbot-Lowry  and  Coppinger,  and  her  devotion 


io8  MOUNT  MUSIC 

to  both,  were  dazzingly  blended,  and  finished  in  a  grand 
chord  on  the  apparently  irrelevant  fact  that  she  would  die 
dead  before  she  would  put  down  any  dirty  stain  before  the 
Major's  honour. 

"But  Mary,"  interposed  Frederica,  with  an  inartistic 
directness  that  was  in  painful  contrast  to  the  cadenza,  "what 
has  the  Major  got  to  say  to  Doctor  Aherne?" 

The  question  was  ignored;  the  artist  dashed  on  into  a 
presto  movement,  in  which,  as  far  as  any  direct  theme  was 
discernible,  Dr.  Mangan,  his  cupidity,  his  riches,  the  riches 
of  Dr.  Aherne's  parents  were  the  leading  motives.  Also, 
parenthetically,  that  Danny  Aherne  was  without  shoe  or 
stocking  to  his  foot  when  he  was  going  to  school  in  Pribawn 
with  her  own  poor  little  boy.  "And  look  at  him  now!" 
continued  Mrs.  Twomey,  on  a  high  reciting  note,  and  still 
presto,  "with  his  car  and  his  horse,  and  his  coat  with  an  owld 
cat  skin  for  a  collar  on  it,  and  his  Tommy-shirts  without 
tails!" 

There  was  an  instant  of  pause,  and  Frederica  breathed  the 
words  "'Dicky'  shirt-fronts!"  to  her  bewildered  cousin. 

"Himself  and  the  Big  Docthor  walking  the  streets  of 
Cluhir  like  two  paycocks!"  went  on  Mrs.  Twomey  with 
ever-increasing  speed  and  fury.  "Ha!  Ha!  Didn't  I  meet 
him  back  in  Pribawn  ere  yistherday.  'How  great  you  are 
in  yourself!'  says  I  to  him.  'It  done  you  no  harm  to  kill  a 
woman!'  says  I.  'Mind  your  own  business!'  says  he  to  me. 
'Throth  then,  an'  I  will  mind  it!'  says  I,  'an'  I'll  have  plenty 
to  mind  it  without  you!  I'll  have  plenty  to  mind  it  without 
yourself!  Dannileen  alay!'" 

"What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about?"  Dick  broke  in 
impatiently. 

Mrs.  Twomey  flung  a  glance  to  the  doorway.  Christian 
was  no  longer  there.  On  a  lower  key,  and  directed  to  Miss 
Coppinger,  a  fresh  stream  flowed.  A  young  woman  had 
died;  a  young  woman  who  had  been  privileged  to  marry  a 
relative,  of  a  degree  of  relationship  obscure,  but  still  hon- 
oured, of  Mikey  Twomey's;  "and  she  afther  having  a  young 


MOUNT  MUSIC  109 

son,  and  the  boy  that  marrit  her  as  proud ! — and  a  very  good 
baby,  and  what  misfortune  came  to  her  no  one'd  know,  only 
the  Lord  God  Almighty,  but  she  died  on  them.  And  she  a 
fine,  hard,  hearty,  blushy,  big  lump  of  a  gerr'l.  And  'tis 
true  what  they  said " 

The  details  that  followed  were  hissed,  prestissimo,  into 
the  ear  of  Miss  Coppinger,  but  that  Dr.  Aherne  was  to  be 
blamed,  was  made  as  clear  to  Dick  Talbot-Lowry  as  to  his 
cousin. 

The  tale  was  concluded  in  tears. 

"Look!     I  has  to  cry  when  I  thinks  of  it!" 

It  is  impossible  with  Mrs.  Twomey,  and  her  like,  to  argue 
a  point,  or  to  attempt  an  appeal  to  reason.  A  flat  and  dicta- 
torial contradiction  may  have  some  temporary  effect,  and 
Major  Talbot-Lowry  adopted  this  method,  for  lack  of  better, 
in  defence  of  his  nominee.  Mrs.  Twomey,  however,  con- 
tinued to  weep. 

"But  Mary,"  urged  Frederica,  "there  isn't  a  doctor  in  the 
world  who  doesn't  lose  a  patient  sometimes.  It  may  not  have 
bee:,  this  unfortunate  young  man's  fault  in  the  least " 

"  'Tisn't  that  I'm  crying  for  at  all,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Twomey, 
a  deplorable  little  figure,  her  head  bent  down,  while  she 
wiped  violently  and  alternately  her  nose  and  her  eyes  in  her 
sacking  apron.  "But  it  is  what  the  people  is  sayin'  on  the 

roads  about"   (sob)   "about"   (sniff) 

•     "About  what?"  said  Dick,  who  was  being  bored. 

"About  your  Honour!"  returned  Mrs.  Twomey,  in  a  sort 
of  roar. 

"And  what  the  devil  are  they  saying  about  me?" 

"God  forbid  that  I'd  put  down  any  dirty  stain  before 
your  Honour,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Twomey,  recurring  to  her  earlier 
metaphor;  "it's  that  big  horse  that  ye're  afther  buyin'  from 
Docthor  Mangan ;  they  say  that  he  gave  him  to  ye  too  cheap 
on  the  head  of  it " 

"On  the  head  of  what,  woman  ?"  shouted  Dick,  now  pass- 
Ing,  by  the  well-worn  channel  of  anxiety,  from  boredom  to 
anger. 


i  io  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"On  the  head  of  the  Dispinsary!  Sure  they  says  'twas 
your  Honour  gave  it  to  Danny  Aherne!" 

It  is  unnecessary  to  record  Major  Talbot-Lowry's  indig- 
nation on  hearing  this  charge.  The  dairy,  with  its  low  ceil- 
ing and  paven  floor,  echoed,  submissively,  his  well-justified 
strictures  on  the  lies  and  evil  speaking  of  his  humbler 
neighbours,  and  Mrs.  Twomey  dried  her  eyes  (much  as  she 
would  scrub  out  one  of  her  milk-pans)  and  hearkened. 

Who  shall  say  if  she  believed  him?  There  is  a  standard 
of  honour,  rigid  and  stern,  for  gentlemen,  just  as  there  is 
quite  another  standard  for  those  who  do  not,  in  the  opinion 
of  a  people,  Austrian  in  their  definition  of  what  is  or  is  not 
gentle  birth,  merit  that  title.  Dick  Talbot-Lowry  was  a 
gentleman,  and,  in  her  own  words,  no  "dirty  stain"  would 
ever  be  attributed  to  him  by  Mary  Twomey,  but  even  she 
knew  that  the  ethics  of  buying  and  selling  a  horse  apply 
to  no  other  transaction,  and  she  knew  also  that  in  the  dis- 
posal of  a  "place,"  more  may  occur  than  meets  the  eye.  She 
resented  the  slur  on  her  chieftain,  but,  in  spite  of  her  wrath, 
she  could  not  feel  quite  certain  that  the  accusation  was 
entirely  unfounded. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  town  of  Cluhir  had  more  features  than  those  that  have 
already  been  enumerated,  to  entitle  it  to  respect.  There 
was,  primarily,  the  great  river,  that  moved  majestically  in 
its  midst,  bearing  a  church,  impartially,  on  its  either  bank, 
and  hiding  and  nourishing  in  its  depths  the  salmon  that  gave 
the  town  its  reason  for  existence.  There  was  the  tall  and 
noble  bridge  that  spanned  the  river,  and  joined  the  rival 
churches  together  (a  feat  of  which  it  is  safe  to  say  no  other 
power  in  Ireland  was  capable).  It  was  made  of  that  blue- 
grey  limestone  that  builds  bridges,  and  churches,  and  houses, 
with  an  equal  success,  and  it  was  the  equivalent  of  a  pro- 
fession for  many  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  town,  who  were 
accustomed  to  spend  long,  meditative  hours  upon  it,  criticis- 
ing the  fishermen  on  the  bank  below,  watching  the  fish, 
talking  of  fish,  thinking  of  fish,  without  haste,  and  with  a 
good  deal  of  rest.  There  was  also  Hallinan's  Hotel,  that 
was  very  far  from  being  a  mere  country  hotel.  The  stately 
bow-windows  of  its  coffee-room  have  already  beei:  mentioned, 
but  its  wide  verandah  must  not  be  forgotten,  stone-paven, 
glass-roofed,  umbrageous  with  tropic  vegetation,  beneath 
whose  shade,  on  the  sunny  days  that  are  enjoyed  by  the 
lesser  world  of  men,  sad  anglers,  in  ancient  tweed  suits, 
lolled,  broken-heartedly,  in  basket-chairs.  And,  finally,  on 
the  town's  highest  level,  was  The  Mall,  reserved,  dignified, 
with  a  double  row  of  great  beech-trees,  and  behind  them, 
on  both  sides  of  the  wide  roadway,  the  reserved  and  dignified 
houses  of  the  magnates  of  Cluhir.  Eminent  in  both  these 
qualities  was  No.  6;  almost  too  much  so,  Mrs.  Mangan 
thought  sometimes.  On  a  wet  day  she  would  say,  it  would 

in 


ii2  MOUNT  MUSIC 

be  as  good  for  you  to  be  in  the  Back  of  Beyond  itself,  as 
here,  where  you  might  be  flattening  your  nose  all  day  and 
not  see  as  much  as  a  bike  going  by. 

Dr.  Mangan,  however,  fully  recognised  the  value  of  this 
seclusion.  His  surgery  was  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and 
its  unbroken  quiet  was  grateful  to  a  man  who  had  much  to 
do,  and  plenty  to  think  of.  He  was  seated  in  it,  one  mild 
February  evening,  some  months  after  the  election  of  Dr. 
Aherne.  It  had  been  market-day  in  Cluhir;  patients  had 
been  many,  and  fees  satisfactory.  The  Doctor  reclined  in 
front  of  a  good  turf  and  wood  fire,  and  smoked  a  mellow 
pipe,  and  reviewed  the  run  of  events.  Danny  Aherne  had 
been  in,  to  speak  to  him  about  a  case,  that  afternoon,  and 
Dr.  Mangan's  thoughts  ran  back  to  that  little  affair  of  the 
Knock  Ceoil  Dispensary,  and  of  Major  Talbot-Lowry's  part 
in  the  matter.  Danny  had  just  nipped  in  before  the  Local 
Government  Bill  took  the  power  away  from  the  old  Dis- 
pensary Committees.  Dam'  luck  for  Danny.  The  Major 
had  been  useful  enough.  It  hadn't  been  his  vote,  so  much 
as  his  influence,  that  had  got  the  boy  the  job.  The  affair, 
as  far  as  the  Doctor  was  concerned,  was  of  quite  minor 
importance,  but  it  had  been  useful  in  promoting  the  feeling 
of  intimacy  between  the  houses  of  Mangan  and  Talbot- 
Lowry.  That  omniscient  composite  authority,  "The  people 
on  the  roads,"  whose  views  had  been  quoted  by  Mrs. 
Twomey,  had  not  been  wrong  in  hinting  that  the  Doctor 
had  permitted  the  Major  to  have  the  best  of  the  bargain 
about  the  big  brown  horse.  Old  Tom  Aherne  had  made 
it  well  worth  his  while  to  do  so,  so  even-one  had  come 
comfortably  out  of  the  transaction.  Nor  had  Dr.  Mangan, 
in  diagnosing  Major  Talbot-Lxnvry,  been  wrong  in  his 
assumption  that  Dick,  generous,  and  elated  by  his  success 
in  bargaining,  would  wish  to  indemnify  his  opponent  for 
having  had  the  worst  of  it,  and  would  consider  the  support 
of  Danny  Aherne  as  a  suitable  expression  of  the  wish. 

The  Big  Doctor's  intimacy  with  Dick  had  progressed  of 
late  with  remarkable  rapidity.  During  one  of  those  friendly 


MOUNT  MUSIC  113 

talks  over  the  Mount  Music  library  fire,  that  had  latterly 
been  recurring  with  increasing  frequency,  an  opportunity 
had  risen  for  the  Doctor — "a  warm  man,"  as  has  been 
said — to  offer  to  the  Major  a  tangible  proof  of  his  friendship. 

"After  all,  there's  the  money  lying  idle  at  my  bank,"  the 
Doctor  had  said,  breezily. 

Dick,  in  a  moment  of  irritation  and  perplexity,  had  ex- 
patiated on  the  expenses  consequent  on  launching  sons  into 
professions,  and  also  on  the  pig-headed  determination  of 
annuitants  to  "hang  on,"  regardless  of  the  inconveniences 
occasioned  to  a  heavily  burdened  property  by  this  want  of 
consideration. 

"Three  half-sisters  of  my  father's,"  says  Dick,  "as  old  as 
three  men  each  of  'em,  and  not  a  notion  of  dying  among 
'em!  They'll  see  me  out,  I'll  swear!" 

It  was  then  that  that  idle  money  had  been  tactfully  re- 
ferred to. 

"I'll  knock  better  interest  out  of  you,  Major,  than  the 
bank'll  give  me!"  said  the  Big  Doctor,  jovially.  "I  want 
no  security  from  you!  Your  word " 

"Oh,  that  will  never  do,  my  dear  fellow,"  Dick  had  re- 
plied, as  he  was  meant  to  reply.  "Of  course  it  must  be  a 
pukka  business  deal.  I'll  give  you " 

In  his  relief,  Dick  was  ready  to  give  to  this  kind  William 
of  Deloraine  any  security  that  he  would  suggest.  It  was,  of 
course,  a  purely  nominal  affair — but  still — what  about  a 
mortgage  on  the  house  and  demesne?  How  would  that  do? 

The  Doctor  thought  it  would  do  very  well. 

It  should  be  established,  while  it  was  still  possible  to  induce 
the  reader  to  accept  such  a  statement,  that  the  Big  Doctor 
was,  as  he  himself  might  have  said,  "not  too  bad  a  fellow 
altogether!"  In  public  life,  a  fighter,  wily  and  skilled;  com- 
passionate to  the  poor,  yet  exacting,  implacably,  practical 
recognition  of  his  compassion.  In  his  own  house,  easy-going 
and  autocratic;  in  his  Church,  a  slave;  a  confidential  slave, 
whose  gladiatorial  gifts  were  valued,  and  whose  idiosyn- 
jSracies  might  be  humoured,  but  none  the  less,  a  slave.  He 


H4  MOUNT  MUSIC 

was  like  an  elephant  in  his  hugeness,  and  suppleness,  his  dan- 
gerousness,  and  his  gentleness.  His  head  was  not  crowned 
with  the  bald  benevolence  that  an  elephant  wears,  but  seated 
on  his  neck  was  a  mahout,  and  the  mahout  was  Father 
Greer,  the  Parish  Priest  of  Cluhir. 

Now,  on  this  quiet  evening,  he  sat  and  smoked  by  the  fire, 
and,  touching  "the  tender  stops  of  various  quills,"  his  eager 
thought  paused  longest  on  the  note  that  stood  for  Tishy. 
Tishy  was,  in  her  own  way,  as  sound  an  asset  as  any  that 
he  possessed,  a  thoroughly  well-made  article,  a  right-down 
handsome  girl,  the  Big  Doctor  thought  complacently,  good 
enough  for  any  position,  and  for  any  man. 

"But  she's  not  for  any  man,  I  can  tell  them!"  thought 
Tishy's  father;  "that's  just  where  the  difference  of  it  is! 
I'll  see  to  that,  you  may  take  your  oath!" 

Then  he  began  to  consider  his  son.  He  could  not  feel 
the  same  confidence  in  Barty  that  Tishy  inspired.  Where 
Barty  got  hold  of  all  his  dam-silly  notions  was  more  than 
anyone,  least  of  all  his  father,  could  imagine.  Nevertheless, 
they  had  had  their  uses,  and  might  still  justify  themselves 
"in  a  sense,"  he  thought;  "if  not  in  one  way,  maybe  in 
another."  He  moved  on  to  his  wife.  How  could  she  con- 
tribute to  the  Great  Ideas?  Ideas  were  not  much  in  her 
line,  but  if  you  told  her  what  to  do,  she'd  do  it.  After  all, 
that  was  the  main  thing.  Women's  own  notions  were  often 
more  bother  than  they  were  worth.  Poor  Annie!  His  big 
mouth,  under  the  coarse  black  moustache,  spread  into  a  smile, 
and  his  blue-grey  eyes  smiled  with  it.  "I  was  a  fool  once 
about  her,  and  b'  Jove,  I  think  I'm  not  much  better  now!" 
he  said  to  himself,  indulgently.  The  handsomest  woman 
this  minute  in  the  barony,  and  she  had  never  so  much  as 
looked  crooked  at  any  man  since  the  day  he  married  her. 
After  all,  she  had  been  a  credit  at  that  Mount  Music  show. 
There  wasn't  a  woman  to  touch  her  in  the  place;  she  had 
held  her  own  with  them;  she  had  spent  his  money  as  he 
had  told  her  to  spend  it.  Like  a  lady.  "I  like  that;  how 
much?  Here's  your  money!"  That  was  what  he  had  told 


MOUNT  MUSIC  115 

her  to  say,  and  she  had  said  it  all  right.  No  damned  hux- 
terings.  And  those  women  whom  he  wished  her  to  get  on 
with,  she  had  got  on  with.  They  liked  her.  It  was  easy 
to  see  that;  and  Lady  Isabel  had  often  come  in  to  see  her 
since  the  show,  and  had  stayed  for  tea,  as  friendly  as  you 
please.  Annie  was  all  right. 

The  gossip  of  Cluhir  had  been  as  mistaken  in  the  matter 
of  the  Mangans  as  gossip  often  is.  Francis  Mangan  had 
married  his  wife  for  the  entirely  unjudicious  reason  that  her 
beauty  had  mastered  his  common  sense.  After  his  marriage 
his  common  sense,  having  regained  the  upper  hand,  was 
satisfied  that,  even  though  her 

"Charms  were  to  change  by  to-morrow 
And  fleet  in  his  arms," 

she  would  still  be  the  only  wife  in  the  world  for  him.  None 
the  less  he  did  not  pretend  indifference  to  the  knowledge 
that  his  wife  was  the  handsomest  woman  in  Cluhir,  and 
there  was,  indeed,  no  reason  why  he  should  do  so.  And 
thus  the  Big  Doctor  had  a  double  triumph. 

There  came  a  fumbling  tap  on  the  door,  it  opened  a  little, 
and  Hannah's  head  came  twisting  round  it. 

"Docthor!"  spoke  the  head,  like  a  Teraph,  "the  Misthress 
says  to  have  ye  come  in.  The  supper's  ready,  and  the  priest 
is  in  it." 

This  remarkable  statement  was  accepted  by  the  Doctor 
with  composure,  as  expressing  the  fact  that  Father  Greer 
had  arrived. 

"Tell  her  I'm  coming  this  minute,"  he  said,  rising  ponder- 
ously to  his  feet;  "say  to  them  to  go  down  without  me." 

He  locked  up  the  fees  that  were  lying  on  the  table,  being 
a  careful  man,  and  washed  his  huge,  pale  hands  with  the 
particularity  that  a  doctor  brings  to  that  task.  Huge  though 
they  were,  they  had  the  sensitiveness  that  is  the  gift  of  music, 
and  is  also  part  of  the  endowment  of  the  surgeon. 

"Ah,  here  he  is  now!"  said  Mrs.  Mangan,  as  the  Doctor 


n6  MOUNT  MUSIC 

came,  enormously,  into  the  small  dining-room.  "For  shame 
for  you,  Francis,  to  be  so  late." 

"Ah,  don't  scold  him,  Mrs.  Mangan!"  said  the  priest 
simpering  conventionally.  "Wasn't  it  ministering  to  the 
afflicted  that  delayed  him!  Doctors  mustn't  be  subjected  to 
the  rules  that  bind  ordinary  people !" 

"That's  right,  Father,"  said  the  Doctor,  beginning  to 
carve  a  large,  cold  goose,  with  the  skill  that  his  trade 
bestows;  "stand  up  for  me  now!  Don't  let  her  bully  me — 
though  indeed  I  might  be  used  to  it  by  this  time!" 

"Doesn't  he  look  like  it,  the  poor  fella!"  scoffed  Mrs. 
Mangan,  directing  a  melting  look  at  her  husband;  "starved 
and  pairsecuted!  That's  what  he  is!" 

Father  Greer  smiled  permissively  over  the  rim  of  his  glass 
of  whisky  and  water;  it  was  strong  and  good,  and  the  food 
was  good  also,  and  abundant.  Mrs.  Mangan 's  suppers  were 
as  generous  as  her  own  contours,  and  were  noted  for  their 
excellence.  She  herself  was  not  so  much  to  the  priest's 
taste.  He  was  celibate  by  nature  as  well  as  by  profession. 
Women  were  antagonistic  to  him,  and  Mrs.  Mangan,  godly 
matron  though  she  was,  seemed  to  him  to  symbolize  a  very 
different  ordering  of  life  to  that  which  he  approved;  but  the 
Big  Doctor  was  an  asset  of  the  Church  who  must  be  sim- 
pered upon,  and  for  whose  sake  a  little  social  boredom  must 
be  unrepiningly  endured.  He  was  an  older  "ian,  by  a  good 
many  years,  than  the  Doctor,  and  was  nearer  sixty  than  fifty, 
but  his  figure  was  slight  and  active,  and  his  scant  hair  was 
dark  and  silky,  though  there  was  a  light  dust  of  grey  in  it 
over  the  ears,  which  were  thin  and  outstanding,  and  shared 
with  his  nostrils  and  eyelids  the  tinge  of  red  that  was  denied 
to  the  rest  of  his  face.  He  had  the  wide,  brains-carrying  fore- 
head of  a  fox,  as  well  as  a  fox's  narrow  jaw,  but  his  eyes 
were  small  and  black,  and  as  quick  as  a  bird's. 

Barty  and  Tishy,  who  were  not  agreed  in  many  things, 
were  agreed  in  being  afraid  of  him.  They  sat  in  perfect 
silence,  while  their  mother  occupied  herself  with  directions 
to  Hannah,  who  hovered,  indeterminately,  near  the  door,  and 


MOUNT  MUSIC  117 

their  father  discoursed  the  visitor.  Father  Greer  was  some- 
thing of  a  traveller,  and  he  was  now  giving  an  instructive 
account  of  a  recent  visit  to  Switzerland,  and  of  the  "wintef 
sports"  that  had  occupied  the  energies  of  all  in  the  hotel 
save  himself. 

"I  found  the  air  as  bracing  and  as  serviceable  to  me  as 
you  had  led  me  to  expect,"  he  said  to  his  host,  "but  the 
sports  seemed  to  me  to  make  a  toil  of  pleasure,  and  the 
dancing  that  went  on  every  night — 'twas  impossible  to  sleep ! 
Well!  Youthful  frivolity,  I  suppose,  must  be  condoned,  but 
I  may  say  I  was  greatly  annoyed  at  an  incident  that  occurred 
at  a  neighbouring  hotel.  Mostly  English,  the  visitors  were, 
and  they  held  a  Protestant  service  on  Sunday  in  the  saller- 
mongy." 

Barty  looked  secretly  at  his  sister.  His  expression  said: 
"And  why  shouldn't  they?" 

Father  Greer  ignored  the  look,  and  continued  his  recital: 
"As  was  quite  right  and  proper  for  them  to  do." 

There  was  a  blink  of  the  black  eyes,  and  Barty  recognised 
that  he  had  not  been  unobserved. 

"There  was  what  is  called  a  Reading-party  of  young  min, 
with  a  tutor,  at  the  hotel,"  went  on  the  priest.  "Protestants 
they  were — so  far  as  they  had  any  religion — but  only  wun 
of  them  attended  that  service.  It  was  said  he  was  the  wun 
and  only  person  able  to  play  the  piano  in  the  hotel.  Some 
English  ladies  requested  him  to  play — I  believe  there  was 
some  very  unsuitable  joking  about  it — and  he  consented.  He 
attended  that  service;  he  played  their  English  hymns," 
Father  Greer  paused,  and  gathered  up  the  table  with  a  glance 
before  his  climax.  "That  young  man,  I  regret  to  say,  was 
an  Irish  Catholic,  one  whom  you  all  know — young  Mr.  St. 
Lawrence  Coppinger!" 

Mrs.  Mangan,  who  had  been  too  much  harassed  by 
Hannah's  failure  to  decode  her  signals,  to  attend,  heard  the 
name  only,  and  said  lovingly: 

"The  dear  boy!  How  nice  for  him  and  you  to  meet  so 
far  away  from  home,  Father!" 


n8  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Barty's  satisfaction  at  his  mother's  unexpected  comment 
took  the  form  of  kicking  his  sister,  heavily.  Tishy,  who  sang 
in  the  chapel  choir,  and  was  at  this  time  inclined  to  regard 
herself  as  a  pillar  of  the  Church,  returned  the  kick  with  a 
viciousness  that  indicated  a  hostile  point  of  view,  and  said 
loftily : 

"But  to  think  they'd  ask  him !  The  English  are  very  lax. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Father?" 

Dr.  Mangan  laughed  apologetically. 

"Well,  it's  a  wonder  that  a  party  of  sheep  would  let  a 
poor  goat  into  their  fold  at  all!"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that 
asked  for  forgiveness  for  the  erring  goat.  "I  suppose  the 
young  ladies  got  him  in  a  corner,  and  'twas  hard  for  him  to 
refuse.  You'd  hardly  blame  him  for  that!" 

Father  Greer  looked  bleakly  down  his  nose  and  said 
nothing. 

Barty  scowled,  considering  that  his  hero  stood  in  no  need 
of  apology.  Dr.  Mangan  continued  his  endeavour  to  save 
the  situation. 

"But  there's  no  understanding  of  Protestants!"  he  re- 
sumed, good-humouredly ;  "I  met  an  old  fellow  on  the  train 
th'  other  day,  old  William  Henderson  of  Glen  Brickeen,  and 
he  was  telling  me  of  a  row  he  had  with  his  clergyman,  the 
Reverend  Wilson.  'Oh,'  says  he,  'I  gave  up  going  to  church 
on  the  head  of  it!'  'And  isn't  that  a  great  sin  for  you,' 
says  I,  'to  give  up  going  to  church?'  'Oh,'  says  he,  'I 
explain  that  to  God  every  Saturday.  He  understands  well 
what  Mr.  Wilson  done  to  me,  and  why  I  wouldn't  go 
to  church  as  long  as  he  was  in  it.'  'Maybe,'  said  I,  fun- 
ning him,  'some  day  he  might  be  before  you  in  Heaven  with 
his  story,  and  what'll  you  do  then?'  'Oh,'  said  he,  Til 
make  out  a  place  for  myself,  never  fear!  There's  places  of 
all  sorts  in  it!'  says  he.  'I  suppose  it's  the  many  mansions 
you're  thinking  of!'  said  I.  'You  think  the  poor  Roman 
Catholics  don't  know  their  Bibles,  but  I  know  that  much !'  " 

"Well,  Francis,"  said  Mrs.  Mangan,  admiringly,  "I  never 


MOUNT  MUSIC  119 

knew  you  that  you'd  be  without  an  answer,  no  matter  what 
anyone'd  say  to  you!  'Many  mansions,'  says  you!  I  declare 
I'd  never  have  thought  of  that!  Father,  wouldn't  you  say 
he  answered  him  well!" 

Father  Greer,  having  made  his  point,  smiled  indulgently, 
and,  as  he  was  deeply  involved  in  a  mouthful  of  tough  goose, 
the  smile,  blended  with  the  act  of  mastication,  made  him 
look  more  than  ever  like  a  fox,  a  fox  in  a  trap,  gnashing  at 
his  captors. 

"I  always  knew  the  Doctor  could  be  trusted  to  'give  a 
knave  an  answer,'  as  Shakespeare  says,"  he  said,  when  the 
power  of  speech  was  restored  to  him;  "I'm  often  surprised 
at  the  liberty,  I  might  almost  say  the  licence,  that  is  met 
with  in  Protestants  in  connection  with  their  religion.  Take 
the  case  of  young  Mr.  Coppinger  that  I  was  speaking  of. 
That  was  a  melancholy  instance  of  evil  communications  cor- 
rupting good  manners.  I  may  say  that  I  regard  with  anxiety 
a  too  great  freedom,  what  I  may  call  an  unrestrained  inter- 
course, between  members  of  the  two  churches — that  is,  indeed, 
if  I  am  justified  in  describing  as  a  church  that  which  I  have 
heard  stigmatised  as  'a  fortuitous  concourse  of  atheistic 
atoms' !" 

Father  Greer's  nose  came  down  over  his  upper  lip,  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  went  up,  and  a  succession  of  sniffs 
indicated  that  he  was  laughing. 

"That  may  be  rather  severe,"  he  conceded,  "but  I  may 
say  that,  for  my  part,  I  consider  that  Catholics  have  a  suf- 
ficiency of  pleasing  society  within  their  own  communion, 
without  striving  to  go  beyond  it!" 

Father  Greer  paused,  looked  round  the  table  as  if  to  re- 
ceive the  general  assent,  and  put  his  sharp  nose  into  the 
tumbler  of  brown  whisky  and  water,  to  whose  replenishing 
the  Doctor  had  not  failed  to  attend. 

A  rather  stricken  silence  followed.  Mrs.  Mangan's  large 
and  handsome  brown  eyes  turned  guiltily  to  her  husband, 
and  moved  on  from  his  face  to  one  of  the  many  trophies  of 


120  MOUNT  MUSIC 

the  Mount  Music  Sale,  a  Protestant  chair  back,  now  flaunt- 
ing itself  on  a  Catholic  chair,  under  the  very  eyes  of  the 
Parish  Priest! 

Barty  glowered  at  his  plate;  Tishy,  who  had  not  enjoyed 
herself  at  the  Sale,  felt,  in  consequence,  that  she  was  now 
justified  in  doing  so  at  the  expense  of  her  family,  and  held 
up  her  head,  and  looked  at  her  father.  It  was  plain  to  see 
that  the  elephant  had  felt  the  prick  of  the  Mahout's  ankus. 
The  Big  Doctor's  face  was  perturbed.  Tishy  saw  him  look 
at  the  little  priest's  glass,  and  knew  that  he  wished  it  were 
empty,  in  order  that  he  might  pour  into  it  a  propitiatory 
oblation.  He  cleared  his  throat  once  or  twice  before  he 
spoke. 

"Very  true,  Father,  very  true.  I  used  to  think  the  same 
thing  in  England.  The  chaps  I  used  to  meet  there — no  one 
would  know  what  religion  they  belong  to,  no  more  than 
if  they  were  heathens.  That  young  lad  that  you  weren't 
pleased  with — young  Coppinger — I  believe  he's  as  good  a 
Catholic  as  any  of  us,  but  he  happens  to  be  thrown  mostly 
among  Protestants.  I  often  think  it's  no  more  than  our 
duty  as  Catholics  to  try  and  see  as  much  as  we  can  of  him. 
He  and  Barty  here,  got  to  be  very  great  with  each  other  the 
time  he  was  with  us,  but  it's  only  an  odd  time  now  that  we 
get  a  sight  of  him." 

"I  was  talking  to  him  a  long  while,  the  last  time  he  \vas 
home,"  said  Barty,  looking  up,  with  something  smouldering 
in  his  voice,  "he  told  me  he  was  going  to  Oxford  next 
October.  It's  well  to  be  him!"  he  ended  defiantly. 

"Now,  I  wouldn't  be  too  sure  of  that  at  all !"  said  Father 
Greer,  with  a  smoothness  that  implied  the  laying  aside  of 
the  ankus ;  "I  think,  my  young  friend,  that  your  good 
father's  house  is  as  safe  and  happy  a  place  for  you  as  you 
could  wish  for!"  He  turned  to  the  Doctor.  "I  may  say 
that  there  is  a  belief  among  certain  classes  that  no  one  is 
properly  edjucated  without  they've  been  sent  to  England.  I 
thought  my  friend  Barty,  was  a  better  Irishman  than  it  seems 
he  is!" 


MOUNT  MUSIC  121 

"I'm  as  good  an  Irishman  as  any  man!"  said  Barty,  in  a 
sudden  blaze,  "and  may-be  better  than  some!" 

His  face  had  turned  white,  and  his  eyes,  that  were  as  large 
and  dark  as  his  mother's,  met  those  of  Father  Greer  with 
the  courage  of  anger. 

"What  harm  is  it  to  want  to  get  a  better  education  than 
what  I  have?  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  want  to  go  to 
Oxford,  or  Switzerland  either,  for  the  matter  o'  that — as 
well  as  another!" 

Father  Greei,  as  Dr.  Mangan  remarked  subsequently, 
took  Barty 's  making  a  fool  of  himself  very  well.  He  put 
his  head  on  one  side,  his  black  eyebrows  went  up,  and  he 
again  uttered  that  succession  of  sniffs  that  served  him  for  a 
laugh. 

"It  seems  that  I  have  made  a  railing  accusation  without 
meaning  it,  and  brought  down  fire  from  heaven,  like  the 
Prophet  Elijah,  only  to  find  that  I  am  myself  to  forrum  the 
burnt  offering!"  he  said,  pleasantly.  "Well,  wrell,  Barty, 
don't  consume  me  entirely  in  your  just  indignation,  and  I'll 
promise  you  to  make  no  insinuendoes  in  future  as  to  whether 
you're  a  good  or  bad  Irishman!" 

I  am  unable  to  determine  if  Father  Greer  deliberately 
devised  this  felicitous  amalgamation  of  the  two  words  that 
were  in  his  mind,  or  if  it  was  unintentional,  and  an  indica- 
tion that  Barty's  brief  flare  of  revolt  had  flustered  him  a 
little.  I  am  inclined  to  the  latter  theory.  In  any  case,  the 
word  is  a  useful  one. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

CHRISTIAN  was  in  the  kennels,  in  their  innermost  depths. 
She  was,  in  fact,  seated  on  the  bench  of  "the  ladies"  lodging- 
house,  on  the  dry  and  rustling  cushion  of  bracken  on  which 
Major  Talbot-Lowry  bedded  his  pack. 

Yearning  to  her,  sitting  all  over  her,  covering  her  with 
their  ponderous  affection,  were  the  hounds.  Two  large 
ladies  had  each  a  head  on  each  of  her  shoulders;  two  more 
had  laid  their  chins  on  her  knees,  and  were  gazing  raptly 
into  her  face.  The  less  favoured  stood,  and  squeezed,  and 
pushed,  and  panted,  with  glowing  eyes  and  waving  sterns,  in 
as  close  a  circle  round  her  as  it  was  possible  to  form. 

"Dearest  things!"  apostrophised  Christian,  "I  feel  like 
Nero— I  wish  you  had  only  one  lovely  head,  so  that  I  might 
kiss  you  all  at  once!" 

"Rot!"  said  Larry,  who  was  leaning  against  the  wall, 
facing  her,  and  saying:  "Down,  you  brute!"  at  intervals,  to 
hounds,  who,  having  failed  to  force  their  way  to  Christian, 
were  directing  their  attention  to  him,  to  the  detriment  of 
his  grey  flannel  trousers.  "And  look  at  your  dress  from  their 
filthy  paws!" 

"Good  Gawd,  Mr.  Larry  Sir!  Don't  say  paws!  'Ounds 
'ave  feet"  responded  Christian,  whose  imitation  of  Cotting- 
ham  was  no  less  accurate  now  than  it  had  been  some  eight 
years  earlier;  "and  I  don't  care  a  pin  for  this  old  skirt  any- 
way  " 

"I'm  as  fond  of  hounds  as  anyone,"  said  Larry,  reprov- 
ingly, "but  I  must  say  I  should  draw  the  line  at  their  licking 
my  face!" 

"They  don't!"  said  Christian,  indignantly;  "that's  the 
beauty  of  them,  They  never  lick — except  perhaps  my 

122 


MOUNT  MUSIC  123 

darling  Nancy,  because  I  nursed  her  when  she  had 
pneumonia." 

"If  I  were  you,  Cottingham,  I  wouldn't  let  Miss  Christian 
into  the  kennels,"  said  Larry,  with  severity,  "she  makes  lap- 
dogs  of  the  hounds!" 

Cottingham  had  joined  the  party,  and  was  leaning  on  the 
half-door  of  the  kennel,  watching  his  hounds  with  the  never- 
failing  interest  of  a  good  kennel-huntsman. 

"I  couldn't  be  too  'ard  on  Miss  Christeen,  sir,"  replied 
Cottingham;  "her's  the  best  walk  I  have.  That  there 
Nancy  was  a  sickly  little  thing  enough  when  I  sent  'er  to 
Miss  Christeen,  and  look  at  'er  now!  A  slapping  fine  bitch!" 

Christian  turned  a  slow  and  expressionless  eye  upon  her 
accuser,  indicating  triumph. 

"It's  like  this  with  that  Nancy,"  continued  Cottingham, 
with  whom  the  preaching  habit,  fostered  by  years  of  laying 
down  the  law  on  subservient  fields,  was  inveterate.  "Her 
got  that  fond  of  Miss  Christeen,  her  follered  'er  about,  the 
way  the  ole  lamb  followed  Mary,  as  they  say.  And  that 
artful  she  got !  Wouldn't  try  a  yard !  An'  she'  ad  the  'ole 
o'  the  young  entry  like  'erself.  Any  sort  of  a  check,  and 
back  they  all  comes  an'  looks  at  me,  wi'  their  'eads  a  one 
side,  and  their  sterns  agoin'  like  this,"  he  wagged  a  stubby 
fore-finger  to  and  fro  in  so  precisely  the  right  rhythm,  that, 
stubby  as  it  was,  no  magic  wand  could  evolve  more  instantly 
the  scene  to  be  presented;  "an*  that's  'ow  it'd  be,  th'old 
'ounds  workin'  'ard,  and  the  young  uns  lookin'  like  they  'as 
nothin'  to  do  only  admire  of  me!" 

"Quite  right,  too!"  truckled  Christian. 

"Ah,  Miss  Christeen,  I'm  too  used  to  soft  soap,  I  am!" 

"Well,  you  know,  Cottingham,  it  was  7  cured  Nancy 
when  she  took  to  following  me  about."  She  turned  to  Larry. 
"Luckily,  I  broke  my  wrist,  and  by  the  time  I  was  able  to 
ride  again  she  had  given  me  up  and  taken  to  hunting." 

"That's  what  you  says,  Miss,"  said  Cottingham;  "but 
I  reckon  what  her  wanted  was  what  her  got  from  me — a 
good  'idin'!" 


124  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Having  made  his  point,  Cottingham,  a  true  artist,  departed 
at  the  little  toddling  run  that  in  kennels  indicates  devotion 
to  duty,  combined  with  a  slippery  floor. 

"I  had  forgotten  about  your  breaking  your  wrist — I  re- 
member about  my  own,  right  enough!"  said  Larry.  "What 
rotten  luck!" 

"Oh,  it's  dead  sound  now,"  said  Christian.  "Look!"  She 
stood  up,  and  held  out  both  her  slender  hands  to  him  across 
the  intervening  hounds'  backs.  "I  bet  you  don't  know  which 
is  which !" 

Larry  took  a  hand  in  each  of  his,  and  flexed  the  wrists. 
"The  left,  wasn't  it?"  he  said,  without  releasing  them.  "Not 
that  I  see  any  difference,  only  I  remember  now  that  I  heard 
you  had  smashed  the  same  one  that  I  did." 

"It  did  hurt — horribly !  I  expect  you  know.  It  hurts  still 
a  little,  sometimes."  She  looked  at  him  for  sympathy.  She 
was  nearly  eighteen  now,  and  had  caught  him  up  in  height, 
BO  that  her  brown  eyes  looked  straight  into  his  blue  ones. 

"Poor  little  paw!"  said  Larry  patronizingly;  he  was  going 
to  be  twenty-one  in  a  week,  and  felt  immeasurably  older  than 
Christian.  "Oh,  by  the  way,  I  forgot!  I  mustn't  say  paw. 
Must  I  call  it  'foot'?  I'll  make  it  well,  anyhow!"  he  ended, 
and,  in  what  he  felt  to  be  the  manner  of  a  kind  uncle,  he 
kissed  the  injured  wrist. 

"Quite  well  now,  thank  you!"  said  Christian,  mockingly, 
withdrawing  her  hands.  "If  I  had  only  thought  of  it,  I 
could  have  got  Nancy  to  lick  it!  It  might  have  done  just 
as  well!"  Her  colour  had  risen  a  little.  "Let's  come  out; 
it's  rather  stuffy  in  here." 

At  a  little  distance  from  the  kennel  precincts  were  waiting 
two  small,  smooth,  white  dogs,  daughters  of  the  adored  com- 
panions of  Christian's  childhood,  themselves  scarcely  less 
adored  than  were  their  parents.  Seated,  as  was  their  practice, 
in  a  well-chosen  position,  that  combined  seclusion  with  a 
commanding  view  of  the  detested  hounds,  they  had  not 
ceased  (as  was  also  their  practice)  from  loud  and  desolate 
barking,  an  exercise  that  in  the  case  of  Dooley,  the  younger 


MOUNT  MUSIC  125 

and  more  highly-strung  of  the  couple,  was  accustomed  to 
develop  into  a  sustained  contralto  wail.  As  Christian  and 
Larry  left  the  kennel  yard,  this  moment  had  been  reached. 
Dooley's  nose  was  in  the  air,  her  mouth  was  as  round  as  the 
neck  of  a  bottle,  her  white  throat  looked  as  long  as  a  swan's 
throat,  and  the  bark  was  softening  into  sobs.  Christian  flung 
herself  down,  and  gathered  her  and  her  sister,  the  second 
Rinka,  into  her  arms. 

"Let's  sit  down  here,"  she  said,  sending  her  hat  spinning 
down  the  grassy  slope;  "it's  too  lovely  to  go  in,  and  I  want 
a  cigarette." 

"Haven't  got  one,"  said  Larry.  "Sorry.  I  gave  them  up 
in  Lent,  and  now  I'm  doing  as  well  without  'em." 

"Nerve  gone  already,"  said  Christian.  "That's  what 
comes  of  missing  a  season!"  She  laughed  up  at  him. 

"Don't  know,"  said  Larry,  dropping  down  beside  her  on 
the  dry,  sun-hot  grass;  "quite  likely;  but  it  wasn't  that. 
The  fact  was" — he  hesitated — "I  met  a  very  decent  Padre 
at  Miirren.  We  used  to  talk  a  lot  about — oh,  no  end  of 
things!  When  he  found  I  was  Irish  he  was  awfully  pleased. 
He  congratulated  me  on  belonging  to  the  Old  Faith — he's 
Irish  himself,  but  he's  never  lived  over  here.  He  said  it 
was  such  a  wonderful  link  with  the  people  and  the  past — 
such  a  romantic  religion !  And  so  it  is,  you  know.  It  hadn't 
Struck  me,  somehow,  till  Father  Nugent  talked  of  it.  I'm 
sorry  for  you,  Christian !  Don't  you  feel  being  a  Protestant 
is  a  bit — well — stodgy — and  respectable — no  sort  of 
poetry?" 

"I  like  stodge,"  said  Christian,  serenely. 

Larry  paid  this  frivolity  no  attention.  He  had  only  recently 
discovered  that  he  possessed  a  soul,  and  he  was  as  much 
pleased  with  it  as  he  had  been  with  his  first  watch,  and  he 
found  much  the  same  enjoyment  in  producing  and  examining 
it,  that  had  been  afforded  to  him  by  the  watch. 

"It  was  Father  Nugent's  suggestion  to  give  up  smoking," 
he  said,  unable  to  eliminate  from  his  voice  a  touch  of  pride, 


126  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"I  knocked  off  whiskies  and  sodas,  too — but  that  was  off  my 
own  bat." 

"'Smite  them  by  the  merit  of  the  Lenten  Fast!'"  mur- 
mured Christian.  Unlike  Larry,  she  evaded  personalities  and 
especially  those  that  involved  a  discussion  of  religion.  "Larry, 
do  you  remember  the  awful  rags  we  used  to  have  over  that 
hymn !  What  ages  it  is  since  you  were  at  home !  Not  since 
I've  had  my  hair  up!" 

"By  Jove,  I  hardly  knew  you  when  I  saw  you  first!" 
responded  Larry,  his  sails  filling  on  a  fresh  tack  with  char- 
acteristic speed.  "It's  not  as  light  as  it  used  to  be.  I'm  not 
sure  that  I  like  it  up." 

He  looked  at  her  critically.  Her  hair,  thick  and  waving, 
lay  darkly  on  her  forehead,  and  was  stacked  in  masses  upon 
her  small  head  on  a  system  known  only  to  herself. 

"That's  a  pity,"  said  Christian,  coolly,  "and  I  hate  it,  too. 
But  unluckily,  whether  you  and  I  hate  it  or  not,  it's  got 
to  stay  up  now — that's  to  say,  when  it  will.  I  am  supposed 
to  be  'out.'  I'm  nearly  eighteen,  you  know.  I  never  thought 
I'd  live  to  such  an  age." 

"Oh,  wait  till  you're  'of  age,'  like  me!"  said  Larry,  im- 
pressively. "Then  you'll  know  the  horrors  of  longevity 
I've  got  to  take  over  the  show — the  tenants  and  all  the  rest 
of  it — from  your  father,  and  Aunt  Freddy,  next  week!  An 
awful  job  it's  going  to  be!  Cousin  Dick  says  that  these 
revisions  of  rent  have  played  the  deuce  all  round.  I  shall 
make  old  Barty  Mangan  my  agent.  He's  a  solicitor  now 
all  right.  He  can  run  the  show.  I  like  old  Barty,  don't 
you?" 

"I  hardly  ever  see  him,"  said  Christian,  cautiously.  "He 
has  rather  nice  looks — more  like  a  poet  than  a  solicitor." 

"You  see,  I  want  to  go  abroad,  and  do  some  music,  and 
paint,"  said  Larry,  pressing  on  with  his  own  subject.  "Take 
painting  on  seriously,  you  know " 

"I  know,"  said  Christian,  thoughtfully,  "I  don't  envy 
Barty  Mangan !  I  know  Papa's  having  botheration  with  our 
people " 


MOUNT  MUSIC  127 

"All  the  more  reason  for  me  to  earn  my  living  by 
painting!"  responded  Larry  cheerfully. 

They  were  sitting  at  the  edge  of  a  patch  of  plantation. 
It  was  the  middle  of  May,  and  the  young  larches  behind 
them  were  clad  in  a  cloud  of  pale  emerald;  the  clumps  of 
hawthorn,  that  were  dotted  about  the  park,  between  the 
kennels  and  the  river,  were  sending  forth  the  fragrance  of 
their  whiteness;  the  new  green  had  come  into  the  grass, 
though  it  was  almost  smothered  in  the  snow  of  daisies ;  prim- 
roses and  wild  hyacinths  had  strayed  from  the  little  wood, 
and  straggling  down  the  hillside,  had  joined  hands  and 
agreed,  the  first,  to  linger,  the  latter,  to  hasten  into  blow, 
and  so  to  share  the  month  between  them.  Just  below,  on  the 
turn  of  the  hill,  was  a  big  thicket  of  furze  bushes,  more 
golden  than  gold,  sweeter  also  than  honey  and  the  honey- 
comb. From  Larry's  woods  across  the  Ownashee,  the 
cuckoo's  voice  came,  as  melodiously  monotonous  and  as  full 
of  associations  as  the  bell  of  a  village  church.  Silvery  clouds 
were  sailing  very  high  in  a  sky  of  thinnest,  sweetest  blue; 
little  jets  of  sparkling  sound,  rising  and  falling  in  it,  bespoke 
the  invisible,  rapturous  larks,  tireless  as  a  playing  fountain; 
and  the  sun  blazed  down  on  the  boy  and  the  girl  and  the 
two  little  dogs  seated  there  in  the  full  of  it. 

Larry  rolled  over  and  over  on  the  grass  like  a  young  colt. 

"Oh,  murder-in-Irish!"  he  groaned,  in  sheer  ecstasy,  "isn't 
it  gorgeous!  I  always  forget  how  entirely  stunning  Ireland 
is,  till  I  come  back  to  it!" 

He  could  say  no  more,  as  both  dogs  had  sprung  from 
Christian's  arms,  and  were  feverishly  licking  his  face. 

"Your  own  fault!"  said  Christian,  answering  his  expos- 
tulations. "Kind  little  things,  they  thought  you  asked 
for  it." 

"I  repeat,"  said  Larry,  lying  on  his  back,  and  holding  off 
his  assailants  with  difficulty,  "eliminating  badly  brought-up 
dogs,  that  Ireland  is  the  finest  country  in  the  world,  and — 
listen  to  this,  Christian! — the  Irish  are  the  finest  people, 
and  the  worst  governed!" 


128  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"'The  foinest  pisanthry  in  Europe'!"  said  Christian,  in 
gibing  exaggeration.     "Larry,  you've  got  awfully  English!" 
Larry  rolled  over  and  came  into  play  again,  sitting  bolt 
upright;  "I'm  a  Home  Ruler!" 

"Don't  be  absurd,"  said  Christian,  tranquilly. 
"I'm  not  the  least  absurd,"  returned  Larry.     "I  mean  it. 
If  not  a  Republican!"  he  added,  ostentatiously,  and  began 
to  chant: 

"And  Ireland  shall  be  free, 
"From  the  centre  to  the  sea, 
"And  huzza  for  Libertee, 
"Says  the  Shan  Van  Voghtf' 

"I  say,  you  remember  the  old  companions  of  Finn?  Well, 
they're  rolling  up  again !  I've  started  them  at  Oxford.  Six 
members  already!  Two  men  in  my  college,  and " 

"English,  of  course!"  interrupted  Christian,  with  an 
effective  tone  of  elderly  superiority.  "People  like  yourself, 
who  know  nothing  about  it!" 

This  was  an  insult  not  easily  to  be  tolerated ;  the  gage  of 
battle  did  not  lie  long  at  Larry's  feet,  and  it  may  be  admitted 
that  the  challenger  would  have  been  ill  pleased  had  it  been 
ignored. 

In  the  five  years  that  had  passed  since  the  curtain  of  this 
narrative  went  down  on  Christian,  she  had  changed  more 
than  had  Larry.  It  was  as  though  that  extra-worldly  en- 
dowment of  her  childhood  having  ceased  to  manifest  in 
external  ways,  had  turned  its  light  inwards.  The  power 
of  hearing  what  others  could  not  hear,  had  faded,  but  a 
subtlety  of  mind,  a  clarity,  a  sort  of  pondering,  intellectual 
self -consciousness  (that  had  no  kinship  with  that  other  form 
of  self-consciousness  that  is  only  inverted  self-conceit)  had 
taken  the  place  of  those  voices  that  she  had  once  refused 
to  deny  to  the  inquisitorial  John. 

The  battle,  with  regard  to  the  resurrected  Companions 
of  Finn,  having  waxed  and  waned  in  a  course  that  need  not 
here  be  followed,  the  argument  took  on  another  phase. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  129 

"You  know,  Larry,"  Christian  said,  half-absently  twisting 
and  arranging  Dooley's  little  tan  ears,  in  order  to  express, 
on  Dooley's  behalf,  with  them,  various  emotions,  "it  seems 
to  me  that  all  these  political  revolutions  that  you  are  so 
anxious  to  start,  for  the  good  of  Ireland,  are  like  putting 
the  cart  before  the  horse." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Larry,  eyeing  her  with  un- 
disguised surprise. 

"Well,"  said  Christian,  slowly,  gazing  across  the  valley 
with  eyes  more  than  ever  like  the  clearest  brown  stream, 
"you've  got  to  begin  with  the  individual.  After  all,  Ireland 
is  made  up  of  individuals,  and  each  of  them  contributes  in 
some  way  to  the  big  result.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  real 
Spirit  of  the  Nation  is — is " 

Her  gaze  at  the  far  woods  became  fixed,  and  her  hands 
ceased  to  play  with  the  soft,  tan  ears. 

"Is  what?"  said  Larry,  rather  impatiently.  He  was 
bewildered  by  this  grave,  young  debater,  and  was  trying  to 
reconcile  her  with  the  child  he  had  left  behind  him  last  year, 
or  even  with  the  child  who,  five  minutes  ago,  had  wished  to 
impress  a  comprehensive  kiss  on  all  the  hounds  at  once.  More- 
over, a  young  gentleman  on  the  imminent  verge  of  official 
manhood,  is  justified  in  resenting  ideas,  in  opposition  to  his 
own,  being  offered  to  him  by  a  little  girl,  with  her  hair  only 
just  "up,"  whom  he  regards  as  no  more  than  a  niece,  or 
thereabouts. 

"Well,"  said  Christian,  still  more  slowly,  her  eyes  lifting 
from  the  woods  and  resting  on  a  shining  snowball  of  a  cloud, 
"it's  Religious  Intolerance,  I  think!  That  seems  to  me  the 
Spirit  of  the  Nation — my  side  as  bad  as  yours,  and  yours 
as  bad  as  mine " 

"Oh,  the  parsons  and  the  priests,"  said  Larry,  airily.  "Oh 
you  wait,  Christian!  You  don't  know!  You've  been  stuck 
down  here  in  a  hole.  If  you  met  Father  Nugent " 

"But  I  don't  mean  them  only,"  said  Christian,  standing 
to  her  guns;  "I  mean  the  individual — you  and  me!  Just 
anybody — we're  all  the  same.  The  Shan  van  Voght  has  got 


130  MOUNT  MUSIC 

to  free  us  from  each  other  before  she  takes  on  England!" 
She  looked  at  Larry;  the  seriousness  left  her  face,  and  she 
shook  back  the  dark  hair  from  her  forehead  with  just  the 
same  gay,  mutinous  toss  of  the  head  that  a  young  horse  will 
give  when  the  rider  picks  up  the  reins.  "I  may  have  been 
stuck  down  here  in  a  hole!"  said  Christian,  mocking  him; 
"but  anyhow,  I  haven't  lived  in  England  and  lost  my  eye!" 

"What  about  seeing  from  a  distance,  and  seeing  the  whole 
and  not  the  part?"  retorted  Larry.  "What  about  a  bird's 
eye  view?"  He  had  risen  to  his  feet  and  was  looking  down 
at  her,  feeling  the  moral  support  of  physical  elevation. 

"That  depends  on  the  bird!"  said  Christian.  "Now,  if 

it  were  a  goose,  for  example !  Like Hi!  Dogs!  Look, 

Larry!  Look!  Down  by  the  furze  bushes!  A  huge 
rabbit!" 

The  discussion  closed  abruptly,  as  such  discussions  will, 
when  the  disputants  are  at  the  golden  age,  and  views  and 
opinions  are  winged,  and  have  not  yet  become  ballast,  or, 
which  is  worse,  turned  to  mooring-stones. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  origin  of  the  Coppinger's  Court  picnic  was  complicated 
and  has  remained  obscure.  Whether  its  author  had  been 
Mrs.  Mangan,  or  her  friend,  Mrs.  Whelply,  or  young  Mr. 
Coppinger  himself,  was  uncertain,  but  the  fact  remained 
that  a  picnic,  with  indirect  reference  to  the  blossoming  of 
the  bluebells  (i.e.,  the  wild  hyacinths)  was  decided  upon,  and 
that  Larry,  in  the  course  of  the  visit  that  he  never  failed 
to  pay  to  the  Mangan  household,  had  placed  the  demesne  of 
Coppinger's  Court  at  the  disposal  of  the  ladies  of  Cluhir, 
as  a  scene  for  the  entertainment. 

Larry's  fidelity  to  the  Mangans  was  a  matter  that  was 
undoubtedly  something  of  a  trial  to  his  Aunt  Freddy.  She 
was  too  inflexibly  conscientious  to  attempt  to  deny,  even  to 
Lady  Isabel,  still  less  to  herself,  that  such  fidelity  was  credit- 
able, but  she  felt  justified  in  considering  it  superfluous;  when, 
as  now,  it  took  the  form  of  inviting  a  party  of  unknown 
size,  under  the  patronage  of  Mrs.  Mangan,  to  accept  the 
Ownashee  as  its  wash  pot,  and  (as  it  were)  to  cast  forth  its 
shoe  over  Coppinger's  Court,  Aunt  Freddy  may  be  forgiven 
the  manoeuvre  that  arranged  a  seance  with  her  Dublin  dentist 
for  the  date  decided  upon  for  the  picnic,  and  may  be  felt  to 
deserve  the  sympathy  of  those  who  can  appreciate  the  inward- 
ness of  her  position.  And  this  last,  improbable  though  it 
may  seem  to  some  people,  was  made  immensely  more  difficult 
by  the  simple  and  irrelevant  fact  that  she,  on  Sundays,  betook 
herself  to  the  Knock  Cecil  Protestant  church,  while  Larry 
went  to  the  white  chapel  on  the  hill.  It  was  to  the  grey, 
stone  Protestant  church  that  Larry's  forbears  had  gone  for 
one  hundred  and  fifty  years  or  more,  even  since  the  then 


132  MOUNT  MUSIC 

reigning  Coppinger  had  fallen  in  love  with  an  English  heiress, 
and,  agreeing  with  Henri  Quatre,  that  Paris  was  well  worth 
a  Mass,  had  'verted  to  marry  her.  Never  in  living  memory 
had  the  congregations  that  rilled  full  the  white  chapel  on 
the  hill,  included  in  their  dutiful  ranks  any  being  of  higher 
degree  than  might  have  been  found  in  those  other  congrega- 
tions, that,  some  nineteen  hundred  years  earlier,  were  gath- 
ered in  the  hills  of  Galilee;  those  humble  crowds  who  came 
to  hear  Christ  preach,  of  whom  it  was  said  that  they  were 
of  the  common  people,  and  that  they  heard  Him  gladly.  Miss 
Frederica  was  as  good  a  Christian — in  some  ways  probably 
a  better  one — as  might  have  been  found  in  the  white  chapel, 
but  it  was  impossible  for  her  not  to  feel,  what  was,  indeed, 
felt,  with  a  singular  mixture  of  satisfaction  and  disapproval, 
by  the  majority  of  the  white  chapel's  congregation,  that 
Larry's  parents  had,  socially,  been  ill-advised  when  they 
"made  a  Roman  of  him."  In  the  creed  of  Mary  Twomey, 
and  her  fellows,  it  was  only  in  conformity  with  natural  law 
in  the  spiritual  world  that  ginthry  should  go  to  church,  and 
the  like  of  herself  to  chapel.  She,  no  more  than  Frederica, 
could  subdue  the  feeling  of  incongruity  imparted  by  the  fact 
of  Master  Larry  and  herself  worshipping  together;  it  was 
as  though,  if  she  had  run  into  the  kitchen  to  get  a  sup  of 
hot  water,  or  the  wetting  of  her  mouth  o'  tay,  she  had  found 
him  sitting  among  the  maids  in  the  servants'  hall.  Mary 
Twomey,  and  her  fellows,  would  have  indignantly  repudi- 
ated the  idea  of  taking  service  with  one  of  their  own  church. 
"No!  Thank  God!  I  never  sank  to  that!"  Mary  had  once 
said,  when  such  had  been  imputed  to  her.  There  was  no 
question  of  religion  in  it.  Merely  of  fitness.  So  inveterate 
in  the  older  Ireland  is,  or  was,  what  Christian  might  have 
considered  to  be  the  outcome  of  The  Spirit  of  the  Nation, 
but  that,  in  this  special  connection,  may  with,  perhaps, 
greater  accuracy,  be  ascribed  to  the  aristocratic  instinct. 

Something  like  a  sheet  of  thin  ice  had  come  into  existence 
between  Larry's  life  and  that  of  his  aunt.  It  had  come 
gradually,  almost  imperceptibly.  There  had  been  a  time, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  133 

after  his  First  Communion,  when  Larry  had  confided  in 
Frederica.  He  had  even  told  her  of  the  anxieties  he  had 
felt  before  his  first  Confession,  and  of  how  difficult  he  had 
found  it  to  decide  upon  the  sins  that  he  could,  without  arro- 
gance lay  to  his  own  charge.  He  told  her  that  he  had  in- 
vented several  crimes,  in  order  to  dignify  the  occasion. 
Frederica  wondered  secretly  how  that  charming  Jesuit 
Father,  to  whom,  at  Monkshurst,  she  had  been  introduced 
as  her  nephew's  spiritual  director,  had  dealt  with  the  sinner; 
but  this,  Larry  had  not  divulged.  There  were,  from  that 
time  forward,  an  increasing  number  of  things  that  Larry 
did  not  divulge  to  his  Aunt  Freddy,  and  the  sheet  of  ice 
slowly  became  thicker.  It  was  "the  religious  aspect  of  the 
case,"  as  Miss  Coppinger  complained  to  Mr.  Fetherston,  that 
made  it  so  impossible  for  her  to  speak  her  mind  to  Larry 
about  the  Mangans. 

"Do  you  remember  you  advised  us  to  send  him  to  Oxford  ?" 
she  reproached  him.  "I'm  afraid  it  has  only  had  the  effect 
of  making  him  take  his  religion  more  seriously — for  which, 
I  suppose,  one  ought  to  be  thankful " 

"And  why  not?"  the  Reverend  Charles  had  replied. 
"They  say  all  roads  lead  to  Rome,  so  no  doubt  the  con- 
verse holds  good,  and  out  of  Rome  some  road  must  lead  to 
Heaven!" 

The  Reverend  Charles  was  pleased  with  his  aphorism,  but 
Frederica  could  not  enjoy  it.  Not  even  Mr.  Fetherston 
could  console  her  on  this  matter. 

'"His  very  niceness  and  simplicity  make  him  a  prey  for 
undesirables,"  she  mourned,  "and  he  has  that  peculiar  gift 
of  making  every  one  fond  of  him.  I  suppose  it  is  his 
looks " 

"Then  you  cannot  blame  the  undesirables,"  her  rector 
responded. 

Larry's  looks  had,  certainly,  a  spell  that  was  something  in 
excess  of  what  may  be  called  their  "face-value."  Though 
legal  manhood  was  so  soon  to  be  his  status,  he  had  still  some 
of  the  radiance  of  childhood  about  him.  His  hair  was  of  the 


134  MOUNT  MUSIC 

same  pure  and  infantine  gold  that  it  had  been  when  he 
charged  down  on  the  Eldest  Statesman  on  the  stepping- 
stones  of  the  Ownashee;  his  blue  eyes  had  lost  none  of  their 
candour;  the  touch  of  gilding  on  his  upper  lip  was  effective 
only  at  short  range,  but,  when  taken  in  connection  with  a 
very  white  and  even  set  of  teeth,  and  a  beaming  and  ever- 
ready  smile,  it  carried  considerable  weight.  His  fair  skin 
had  not  yet  taken  on  its  summer  scorch  of  carmine,  and  its 
soft  and  babyish  pinkness  softened  the  salience  of  his  short 
nose,  and  induced  the  critic  to  condone  the  want  of  decision 
in  his  chin. 

"Not  a  handsome  boy,  exactly,"  people  said,  "but,"  and 
here  people  would  smile  relentingly,  "if  he  had  been  a  girl, 
one  would  certainly  quite  have  said  'pretty' — so  attractive- 
looking,  and  so — so  clean !"  which  might  seem  to  be  the  con- 
demnation of  faint  praise,  but  was,  in  reality,  merely  the 
tribute  that  Larry's  new-minted  golden-ness  of  aspect 
startled  from  the  beholder. 

He  was  no  more  than  five  foot  nine  in  height,  which  was 
a  trial  that  at  times  he  felt  deeply,  but  there  are  practical 
advantages  for  a  young  man  who  rides,  in  being  able  to  do 
so  at  something  considerably  under  eleven  stone.  At  boxing, 
rowing,  and  games,  what  he  lost  in  weight  and  reach,  he 
made  up  for  in  speed  and  elasticity  and  endurance.  Finally, 
it  may  be  said  that  his  figure  had  the  gift  of  making  old 
clothes  like  new,  and  new  clothes  look  unaggressive,  and 
when  to  these  attributes  is  added  a  faculty  for  wearing 
hunting  kit  with  accuracy  and  finish,  it  will  be  understood 
that  Larry  had  early  achieved  standing  in  his  college. 

The  Cluhir  picnic,  that  had  so  justifiably  perturbed  Miss 
Frederica,  debouched,  like  a  mighty  river,  from  its  wagon- 
ettes and  outside  cars,  upon  the  lawns  of  Coppinger's  Court, 
at  about  four  of  the  clock,  of  a  beautiful,  balmy  May  after- 
noon, and  to  Larry  fell  the  task  of  deciding  upon  its  course 
of  procedure.  Clad  in  very  white  flannels  and  a  prismatic 
blazer,  and  looking,  as  his  most  tepid  supporter  would  have 
to  allow,  a  picture  of  cleanliness,  he  advanced  upon  Mrs. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  135 

Mangan's  wagonette,  and  proffered  an  arm,  fortunately  of 
steel,  to  facilitate  her  descent.  The  five  years  that  had 
elapsed  since  Larry  was  her  guest,  had  effected  less  change 
in  her  than  in  him.  Save  that  the  bisonian  fringe  now 
held  a  grey  hair  or  two  in  its  dark  depths,  and  the  curves, 
that  had  suggested  a  Chesterfield  sofa  to  her  young  friend, 
were  now  something  more  opulent  than  they  had  been,  Mrs. 
Mangan's  progress  along  the  corridor  of  eternity  had  made 
no  perceptible  mark  on  her.  Still,  in  assisting  her  descent 
from  a  high  wagonette,  an  arm  of  steel  was  not  out  of  place. 

Larry  was  at  the  age  that,  believing  itself  critical  to  the 
point  of  extinction  of  the  rejected,  yet  accepts  with  enthusi- 
asm any  female  creature  that  can  wear  a  smart  hat  with 
assurance,  and  wag  a  flattering  tongue  with  address.  The 
Cluhir  ladies  were  proficient  in  these  arts.  Mr.  Coppinger 
was  congratulated  on  his  weather;  arranged  by  his  skill, 
poured  forth  of  his  benevolence!  On  his  demesne,  so  green 
with  young  leaves,  so  gay  with  spring  flowers!  Kind  Mr. 
Coppinger  to  have  created  them  in  such  profusion!  And 
what  warmth  was  there  in  the  Coppinger's  Court  sun !  The 
second  rate  luminary  dedicated  to  Cluhir  was  no  more  than  a 
candle  to  it!  Mr.  Coppinger's  Ant  was  enquired  for  (this, 
it  should,  perhaps,  be  explained,  referred  to  Frederica,  and 
had  no  entomological  application)  suitable  regrets  at  her 
absence  from  home  were  expressed,  with  a  delicate  implica- 
tion that  with  such  a  host,  and  in  such  weather,  the  loss 
was  the  Ant's,  and  was  practically  negligible,  so  far  as  the 
ladies  of  Cluhir  were  concerned.  And  who  were  these, 
coming  up  the  path  from  Mr.  Coppinger's  lovely  river? 
Ah,  yes,  the  youngest  Miss  Talbot-Lowry,  of  course,  and 
which  brother  was  it?  Oh,  the  youngest  one?  Mrs.  Cas- 
sidy  had  thought  the  youngest  of  Lady  Isabel's  family  was 
a  twins — or  were  a  twins?  Which  ought  she  to  say? 

"Well,  this  is  half  of  it,  anyhow!"  says  young  Mr. 
Coppinger,  facetiously,  with  which  Mrs.  Cassidy,  like  the 
Miss  Flamboroughs,  thought  she  would  have  died  with 
laughing. 


136  MOUNT  MUSIC 

With  the  arrival  of  the  youngest  Miss  Talbot-Lowry,  and 
half  the  twins,  a  slight  change  fell  upon  Mr.  Coppinger's 
voluble  guests.  A  stiffening  faint,  almost  imperceptible,  yet 
electric,  enforced  the  circle  round  Larry.  Even  Mrs. 
Whelply's  confluent  simper,  that  suggested  an  incessant  drip- 
ping from  the  tap  of  loving  kindness,  failed  a  little.  A  young 
Mr.  Coppinger  was  a  simple  affair,  but  a  Miss  Talbot- 
Lowry,  however  young,  might  want  watching. 

The  youngest  Miss  Talbot-Lowry  was,  happily  for  herself, 
quite  unaware  of  the  estimation  in  which  she  was  held.  She 
had,  like  Larry,  that  quality  of  selflessness  that  is  so  rare 
and  so  infinitely  engaging;  what  was  she  (she  would  have 
thought)  that  respect  should  be  paid  to  her?  It  was  a  tenet 
of  her  eccentric  creed  that  age  was  not  only  honourable  but 
was  also  pathetic,  so,  when  the  picnic  at  large  had  begun 
its  leisurely  advance  through  the  woods  to  the  promised  land, 
Christian  selected  the  oldest  and  least  promising  of  the 
Cluhir  matrons  for  her  special  attention,  and  made  herself 
so  agreeable  to  her,  that  Barty  Mangan,  "mooching"  (as  his 
mother  afterwards  reproached  him)  solitary,  in  the  rear  of 
the  procession,  found  himself  in  the  remarkable  position  of 
wishing  that  he  were  his  own  great-aunt,  Mrs.  Cantwell. 

Barty  Mangan's  opportunities  for  meeting  Christian  had 
been  but  few,  but  they  had  sufficed  to  light  a  fatal  star  in 
his  sky,  and  to  induce  in  him,  when,  as  now,  he  found  him- 
self in  her  vicinity,  an  attitude  towards  the  rest  of  the  world 
that  justified  his  mother's  employment  of  the  verb  to  "mooch" 
(a  word  that  may  be  taken  as  implying  a  moody  and  furtive 
aloofness). 

There  was,  Mrs.  Mangan  was  pleased  to  observe,  no 
mooching  about  her  daughter.  On  the  launching  of  the 
picnic,  Tishy  had  immediately  assumed  the  lead,  with  an 
aplomb  and  assurance  justified  by  her  family's  special  inti- 
macy with  young  Mr.  Coppinger,  and  all  who  knew  Tishy, 
knew  also  that  she  meant  to  keep  it.  Dr.  Mangan  had  not 
over-stated  the  case  when,  three  years  earlier,  he  had  said  to 
himself  that  she  was  a  right-down  handsome  girl.  Now,  at 


MOUNT  MUSIC  137 

twenty-one  and  a  half,  his  paternal  pride  was  well  justified. 
Like  him,  she  was  tall  and  strongly  built,  tall,  that  is  to 
say,  for  a  class  that  rarely  excels  in  height,  and  Tishy's  five 
and  a  half  feet  enabled  her  to  look  down  on  most  of  her 
friends.  Her  broad,  dark  eyebrows  grew  straight  and  low 
over  brilliant  grey  eyes,  and  were  nearly  reached  by  thick 
upward  curled  black  eyelashes.  If  her  mouth  was  large,  it 
was  well-shaped,  and  if  her  nose  did  not  possess  the  classic 
severity  of  her  brother's,  its  challenging  tilt  was  not  un- 
attractive. To  these  charms  must  be  added  shining  masses 
of  dark  hair,  and  a  complexion  of  so  vivid  a  tone,  that  it 
seemed  sometimes  as  though  a  fog  of  carmine  coloured  the 
very  atmosphere  about  her  glowing  face.  She  radiated 
vitality,  the  richness  and  abundance  of  high  summer;  she 
suggested  a  darkly  gorgeous  peacock-butterfly,  and  in  the 
delicate  radiance  of  the  spring  woods,  she  seemed  out  of  key 
with  their  slender  elegance  of  leaf  and  spray,  the  soft  reti- 
cence of  their  faint  greens  and  greys. 

It  is  indeed  hardly  fair  to  expect  of  Tishy  Mangan  tha,t 
she  should  be  worthy-  of  such  a  setting  as  southern  Irish 
woods  can  offer  in  the  month  of  May.  It  is  the  month 
of  the  Mother  of  God,  and  in  the  fair  demesne  of  Coppinger's 
Court,  Heaven  had  truly  visited  the  earth,  and  was  chiefly 
and  specially  manifest  in  the  Wood  of  the  Ownashee.  The 
trees  stood  with  their  feet  bathed  in  the  changeful,  passionate 
blue  of  the  wild  hyacinths,  a  blue  that  lay  sometimes  in  deep 
pools,  sometimes  in  thin  drifts,  like  the  azure  of  far  skies; 
the  pale  ferns  rose  in  it,  "like  sweet  thoughts  in  a  dream"; 
the  grey  stems  of  the  beeches  were  chequered  with  the  sun- 
light that  their  thin  branches  and  little  leaves  tried  in  vain 
to  baffle  and  keep  at  bay.  From  the  unseen  river  came  vary- 
ing voices;  sometimes  a  soft  chuckle  that  had  the  laughing 
heart  of  the  spring  in  it,  sometimes  a  rich  and  rushing  har- 
mony, that  told  of  distant  heights  and  the  wind  on  the  hills. 
There  was  a  blackbird  who  was  whistling  over  and  over 
again  the  opening  bar  of  the  theme  of  a  presto,  that,  only 
last  week,  Larry  had  heard,  whipped  out  with  frolic  glee 


138  MOUNT  MUSIC 

by  the  violins  of  a  London  orchestra.  He  wondered  it,  with 
such  themes,  it  is  the  blackbirds  who  inspire  the  musicians, 
or  if  both  have  access  to  the  same  secret  well  of  music,  in 
which  each  can  dip  his  little  bucket,  and  bring  listeners  in 
the  outer  world  a  taste  of  the  living  water  of  melody.  But 
since  (in  spite  of  the  Artistic  Temperament)  he  was  a  normal 
boy,  what  he  said  was: 

"Stunning!  Isn't  it!"  while  he  stood  still,  waiting,  for 
the  hidden  artist  to  favour  them  with  another  flourish  of  that 
gay  string  of  jewels.  "He's  'recapturing'  it  all  right,  eh?" 

The  much-quoted  quotation  passed  by  Tishy  as  the  idle 
wind.  Even  had  she  recognised  the  allusion,  she  would  have 
considered  the  professional  raptures  of  a  blackbird  a  rather 
dull  subject  of  conversation.  The  gallants  of  Cluhir  did 
not  deal  in  such  matters  in  tete  a  tete  with  her,  and  she 
thought,  as  she  had  thought  at  the  children's  party,  long 
ago,  that  Larry,  if  not  quite  a  bore,  might,  in  spite  of  Cop- 
pinger's  Court,  rather  easily  become  one. 

"Oh,  he's  stunning  enough!"  she  replied,  with  her  full- 
throated,  contralto  laugh;  "It  must  be  his  first  cousin  we 
have  in  the  garden  behind  Number  Six !  Dad  says  he  doesn't 
know,  does  him  or  me  sing  the  loudest!" 

By  Jove!  She  sings!  thought  Larry  (as  he  was  meant 
to  think).  Of  course!  What  a  fool  he  was  to  have  for- 
gotten it!  And  as,  at  this  period  of  his  career,  of  the  three 
arts,  who  were  always  riding  a  pace  in  his  soul,  Music,  Paint- 
ing, and  Literature,  Music  happened  to  be  the  leading  horse, 
Larry  looked  upon  Tishy  with  eyes  in  which  a  new  ardour 
had  awakened,  and  proceeded  with  his  accustomed  speed  to 
mature  the  details  of  the  concert  upon  which  he  had,  during 
the  last  sixty  seconds,  enthusiastically  decided. 

Old  Mrs.  Cantwell,  although  unpromising  of  aspect,  was 
by  no  means  as  deplorable,  socially,  as  Christian  had  as- 
sumed her  to  be.  The  fact  that  she  was  the  untramelled 
owner  of  a  soundly-invested  fifteen  thousand  pounds,  that  she 
was  the  aunt  whom  Dr.  Mangan  delighted  to  honour,  com- 
bined with  the  allied  fact  that  she  had  paid  for  the  hiring 


MOUNT  MUSIC  139 

of  the  picnic-bearing  wagonette,  gave  her  an  importance  that 
could  be  undervalued  only  by  one  as  ignorant  of  the  greater 
concerns  of  life  as  was  Christian.  Mrs.  Cantwell  accepted 
the  companionship  of  the  youngest  Miss  Talbot-Lowry  as  no 
more  than  her  due,  and  the  thought  that  compassion  had 
prompted  its  bestowal,  was  very  far  from  her  mind.  None 
the  less,  the  Noah's  Ark  principles  that  governed  implicitly, 
if  not  ostensibly  Cluhir  entertainments  of  this  nature,  were 
firmly  embedded  in  her  being,  and  she  was  entirely  aware 
of  the  furtive  presence  of  Barty,  at  the  rear  of  the  procession 
of  which  she  and  Christian  formed  the  last  couple. 

"Now,  my  dear,"  she  observed,  while  she  and  Christian 
paced  side  by  side,  along  the  river  path,  "you  shouldn't  be 
wasting  time  on  an  old  woman  like  me !  When  I  was  young, 
we'd  have  called  this  a  Two  and  Two  party,  and  I  promise 
you  that  the  likes  o'  you  and  me  wouldn't  have  been 
reckoned  a  proper  couple  at  all !  Not  when  7  was  a  girl !" 

"7  should  have  said  that  you  and  I  were  irreproachably 
proper,  Mrs.  Cantwell,"  responded  Christian,  gaily;  "it  isn't 
very  kind  of  you  to  say  that  we  aren't  behaving  as  we 
should!"  She  laughed  into  Mrs.  Cantwell's  old  face,  and 
she,  being  quite  unused  to  girls  who  took  the  trouble  to  flirt 
with  her,  began  to  think  that  Frankie  Mangan  (thus  she 
designated  her  nephew,  the  doctor)  was  right  when  he  said 
that  the  youngest  of  the  Talbct-Lowrys  was  the  best  of  the 
bunch. 

"Ho!  Ho!  Ho!"  she  said,  with  a  laugh  like  the  whinny 
of  an  old  horse;  "it's  a  long  time  since  I  kicked  my  heels 
over  anything  higher  than  a  hearth-rug!  But  I  can  tell 
you,  my  dear,  I  was  a  good  warrant  for  a  play-boy  when 
I  was  your  age!  There  wasn't  a  young  girl,  no,  nor  a 
young  man  either,  that  I  couldn't  dance  down  if  I  gave  my 
mind  to  it!" 

Christian's  response  was  satisfactory,  and  Mrs.  Cantwell, 
moved  to  give  a  sample  of  her  bygone  prowess,  executed  a 
hippopotamus-like  hop  and  shuffle  among  the  rustling, 
orange  beech  leaves  of  last  year. 


140  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"Polkas  and  Mazoorkas!"  she  exclaimed.  "Them  was  all 
the  go  in  my  time!  Come  on  here,  Barty,  ye  omadhaun!  I 
believe  I  could  dance  you  off  those  long  legs  of  yours  this 
minute,  if  I  was  to  give  me  mind  to  it!" 

Barty,  thus  adjured  by  his  great-aunt,  drew  near.  Mrs. 
Cantwell  was  not  a  person  to  be  lightly  disobeyed,  but  his 
dark  eyes  were  full  of  apprehension.  What  might  Aunt 
Bessie  not  say!  She  was  incalculable,  terrible. 

There  are  old  people  who  appear  to  find  an  indemnity  for 
their  lost  youth  in  permitting  to  themselves,  in  dealing  with 
later  generations,  a  scarifying  freedom  of  humour  in  connec- 
tion with  subjects  which  once  they  held  sacred  (for  there  are 
few  souls  that  have  not  at  some  time  enshrined  a  tender 
emotion ) . 

Barty  had  suffered  before  now  from  Aunt  Bessy,  and  he 
thought  that  if  she  made  of  him  an  offence  to  Miss  Talbot- 
Lowry,  he  would  straightway  rush  into  the  river  and  drown 
himself.  Aunt  Bessy,  however,  potentially  Rabelaisian 
though  she  might  be,  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact  that 
there  is  a  time  to  speak  and  a  time  to  keep  silence. 

"See  here,  Barty,"  she  said,  "let  you  go  on  now,  and  tell 
your  mother  not  to  be  waiting  tea  for  me.  I'll  take  me  own 
time.  Tell  her  never  fear  I'll  turn  up,  only  I  like  to  go  me 
own  pace!"  She  turned  to  Christian.  "Go  on  you  too,  my 
dear;  I'm  well  enough  pleased  with  me  own  company,  and 
I  hate  to  be  delaying  you.  I'll  sit  down  for  a  while  and 
admire  the  scenery." 

Thus  did  Aunt  Bessy,  as  she  complacently  told  herself, 
watch  over  the  interests  of  her  great-nephew,  and  though  her 
method  was  crude,  it  indisputably  achieved  its  object. 

Christian  and  Barty  Mangan  walked  on  in  silence  that 
was  made  companionable  by  the  gurgling  whisper  of  the  river 
behind  its  screen  of  hazels  and  alders;  a  whisper  broken  now 
and  again  by  the  tittering  laugh  of  the  flying  water  over  a 
shallow  place,  like  someone  with  a  good  story  that  he  cannot 
quite  venture  to  tell  out  loud. 

Barty  was  saying  to  himself,  distractedly:  "What'll  I  say 


MOUNT  MUSIC  141 

to  her?  What'll  I  talk  to  her  about?"  with  each  repetition 
winding  himself,  like  a  cocoon,  deeper  in  webs  of  shyness. 

Christian's  social  perceptions  were  hypersensitive,  and 
the  cris  de  cceur  of  her  suffering  companion  were  only  too 
audible  to  her  spiritual  ear.  At  eighteen,  the  quality  of  mercy 
has  seldom  developed ;  the  young  demand  mercy,  they  expect 
to  receive,  not  to  bestow  it;  but  in  this  girl  was  something 
that  made  her  different  from  her  fellows.  It  was  as  though 
a  soul  more  tempered,  more  instructed,  more  subtle  and 
refined,  had  been  given  to  her,  than  is  vouchsafed  to  the 
majority  of  the  poor  creatures  who  are  sent  into  this  difficult 
world  with  an  equipment  that  rarely  meets  its  demands. 

This  is  a  long-winded  way  of  saying  that  Christian  realised 
that  she  had  to  restore  confidence  in  Larry's  young  friend, 
and  that  she  proceeded  forthwith  to  do  so.  She  would  have 
laughed  at  the  thought  that  anyone  could  be  afraid  of  her, 
but  she  felt  instinctively  that  a  soothing  monologue,  a  sort 
of  cradle-song,  was  what  the  occasion  demanded;  so  she 
began  to  speak  of  the  bluebells,  the  woods,  the  weather,  say- 
ing with  a  sort  of  languid  simplicity,  the  things  that  the 
moment  suggested;  "babbling,"  as  she  subsequently  assured 
Judith,  "of  green  fields,"  until  she  had  so  lulled  and^Jbored 
him,  that  in  self-defence  he  produced  an  observation. 

"D'you  read,  Miss  Christian?"  said  Barty,  bringing  forth 
his  mouse  with  an  abrupt  and  mountainous  effort. 

Christian  repressed  the  reply  that  she  had  possessed  the 
accomplishment  for  some  years,  and  asked  for  further  infor- 
mation. 

"Poetry,"  said  Barty,  largely;  "it's — it's  the  only  reading 
I  care  for.  I  thought  you  might  like  it "  he  added,  hur- 
riedly, and  was  again  wrapped  in  the  cocoon. 

"Oh,  I  do,  very  much,"  said  Christian,  trying  hard  not  to 
quench  the  smoking  flax;  "I've  learnt  quantities  by  heart, 
and  Larry  is  always  lending  me  new  books  of  poetry.  He 
says  that  you  and  he  discuss  it  together." 

"I  never  knew  one  like  him!"  said  Barty,  with  sudden 
energy.  "There's  no  subject  at  all  that  he's  not  interested 


142  MOUNT  MUSIC 

in!"  In  the  heat  of  his  enthusiasm  for  Larry,  the  cocoon 
wrappings  were  temporarily  shrivelled.  He  turned  his  dark, 
short-sighted  eyes  on  Christian,  and  took  up  his  parable  with 
excitement. 

"Did  he  tell  you  he's  learning  Irish?  I'll  engage  it'll 
be  no  trouble  to  him!'* 

"He's  always  getting  hold  of  new  ideas,"  said  Christian; 
"I  wish  7  could  learn  Irish." 

"There's  a  branch  of  the  Gaelic  League  in  Cluhir,"  said 
Barty,  eagerly.  "There  are  a  lot  learning  Irish.  I  suppose 
you  wouldn't  be  disposed  to  become  a  member,  Miss 
Christian?"  He  gazed  at  her  imploringly. 

"I  don't  know  if  I  should  be  allowed,"  said  Christian, 
hesitatingly.  "You  see  I've  only  just  come  home.  I've 
been  at  school  in  Paris  for  the  last  two  years " 

A  memory  of  a  ferocious  denunciation  of  the  Gaelic  League 
by  her  father  came  to  her;  she  wondered  what  Barty  would 
do  if  she  offered  him  one  of  the  profane  imitations  of  the 
Major  that  had  earned  for  her  the  laurels  of  the  school- 
room. 

"Oh,  I'm  quite  sure  I  mightn't  become  a  Gaelic 
Leaguer!"  she  repeated,  beginning  to  laugh,  while  samples 
of  her  father's  rhetoric  welled  up  in  her  mind. 

Barty  thought  he  had  never  seen  anything  so  enchanting 
as  her  face,  as  she  looked  at  him,  laughing,  with  wavering 
lights,  filtered  through  young  beech  leaves,  in  her  eyes.  He 
felt  a  delirious  desire  to  show  her  that  he  was  not  a  tongue- 
tied  fool;  that  he  also,  like  Larry,  was  a  man  of  ideas. 

"I  wish  to  God!"  he  said,  with  the  disordered  violence 
of  a  shy  man,  "that  there  was  anny  league  or  society  in  Ire- 
land that  would  override  class  prejudice,  and  oblitherate 
religious  bigotry!" 

He  had  snatched  a  paragraph  from  his  last  address  to  the 
Gaelic  Leaguers  of  Cluhir,  and  with  it  was  betrayed  into  the 
pronunciation  that  mastered  him  in  moments  of  excitement. 

Christian  said  to  herself  that  she  thanked  heaven  Judith 
wasn't  there  to  make  her  laugh. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  143 

"I  don't  think  I'm  a  religious  bigot,"  she  said,  with  a 
faint  tremor  in  her  voice,  "but  one  never  knows !"  Her  head 
was  bent  down,  the  brim  of  her  large  hat  hid  her  face. 

Barty  was  stricken.  What  devil  had  possessed  him?  She 
was  hurt!  She  was  a  Protestant,  and  in  his  cursed  folly  he 
had  made  her  think  he  was  reproaching  her  for  Bigotry. 
Good  God!  What  could  he  do? 

Two  emotions,  hung,  as  it  were,  on  hair-triggers,  held  the 
stage.  In  Christian,  the  fiend  of  laughter  held  sway,  in  poor 
Barty,  the  angel  of  tears.  It  was  perhaps  well  for  them  both 
that  their  next  step  in  advance  took  them  round  a  bend  in 
the  path,  and  brought  them  face  to  face  with  the  picnic. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

YOUKG  Mr.  Coppinger  had  been  well  inspired  in  his  selec- 
tion of  a  site  for  the  entertainment.  The  trees  along  the 
river's  bank  had  ceased  for  a  space,  leaving  a  level  ring  of 
grass,  whereon  certain  limestone  boulders  had  scattered  them- 
selves, with  the  deliberate  intention,  as  it  would  seem,  of 
providing  seats  for  picnickers.  Across  that  fairy  circle  of 
greenness  a  small  vassal-stream  bore  its  tribute  waters  to  the 
Ownashee,  with  as  much  dignity  as  it  had  been  able  to  as- 
sume in  the  forty  level  yards  that  lay  between  its  suzerain 
and  the  steep  glen  down  which  it  had  flung  itself.  Not  only 
had  young  Mr.  Coppinger  been  so  gracious  as  to  provide 
this  setting  for  the  revel,  but  he  was  even  now  sacrificing  a 
spotless  pair  of  white  flannel  trousers  to  the  needs  of  the 
company,  and  had  concentrated  on  the  cajolery  of  the  fire, 
which,  obedient  to  the  etiquette  that  rules  picnic  fires,  re- 
fused to  consume  any  fuel  less  stimulating  than  matches. 
Other  of  the  young  gentlemen  of  the  party,  including  the 
half-twin,  Mr.  George  Talbot-Lovvry  (now  a  sub-lieut. 
R.N.)  were  detailed  to  gather  sticks,  a  duty  that  was  so 
arranged  as  to  involve,  with  each  load  of  firewood,  the  jump- 
ing of  the  vassal-stream,  and  thus  gave  opportunity  for  a 
display  akin  to  that  of  the  jungle-cocks,  who,  naturalists 
inform  us,  leap  emulatively  before  their  ladies.  Prominent 
among  these  was  that  youth  who,  as  a  medical  student,  had 
inspired  Miss  Mangan  in  flapperhood,  with  an  admiration 
for  his  gifts,  intellectual  and  physical,  that  was  only  equalled 
by  his  own  appreciation  of  these  advantages.  His  opinion 
remained  unchanged,  but  he  was  beginning  to  fear  that 
Tishy's  taste  was  deteriorating.  None  sprang  more  lightly 

144 


MOUNT  MUSIC  145 

across  that  little  stream,  or  commented  more  humorously  on 
men  and  things,  than  Captain  Edward  Cloherty,  R.A.M.C. ; 
yet  Miss  Mangan,  to  whom  these  exercises  were  dedicated, 
remained  oblivious  of  them  and  aloof,  apparently  wholly  ab- 
sorbed by  Martha-like  attentions  with  regard  to  the  public 
welfare,  and  particularly  those  connected  with  the  fire.  It 
was  not  ior  nothing  that  Tishy  had  had  to  rise  early  on 
many  a  winter  morning  to  see  that  her  father  should  go 
forth  to  his  work  suitably  warmed  and  fed.  Now,  with 
scathing  criticisms  of  the  methods  of  Mr.  Coppinger,  she 
swept  him  from  his  position  as  stoker,  and,  as  by  magic,  or 
so  it  seemed  to  him,  the  sticks  blazed,  the  kettle  began  to 
sing.  Miss  Mangan's  skill  was  not  limited  to  the  prosaic 
lighting  of  material  fires  only.  With  the  two  most  distin- 
guished young  men  of  the  party  at  her  feet,  she  rose  to 
the  height  of  all  her  various  powers.  The  fire  roared  and 
crackled,  the  kettle  bubbled,  and  Tishy's  grey  and  gleaming 
glances  through  the  smoke  were  like  a  succession  of  boxes  of 
matches,  cast  upon  the  responsive  fires  of  Larry's  and 
Georgy's  holiday  hearts. 

The  young  May  moon  has  often  been  a  factor  in  affairs 
of  the  heart  whose  importance  cannot  be  ignored.  It  is  true 
that  on  this  especial  afternoon  the  mischief  might  seem  to 
have  been  begun  before  she  "could,  strictly,  have  been  held 
responsible;  none  the  less  her  madness  must  have  been  in 
the  air,  otherwise  it  is  difficult  to  account  for  the  joint  and 
simultaneous  overthrow  of  two  young  gentlemen  of  taste 
and  quality,  by  Miss  Tishy  Mangan. 

Georgy,  aged  but  19,  just  home  from  far  and  forlorn 
seas,  with,  as  the  poet  says,  a  heart  for  any  fate,  might 
have  been  excused  for  swallowing  any  good  provided  for 
him  by  the  gods,  whole,  and  without  criticism,  but  for  Mr. 
St.  Lawrence  Coppinger,  lately  come  of  age,  a  man  of  taste, 
endowed  with  special  finesse  of  feeling,  it  might  have  been 
expected  that  a  highly-coloured  peacock  butterfly  would  have 
had  but  scant  appeal.  In  fact,  one  is  driven  back  upon  the 
young  May  Moon  as  the  sole  plausible  explanation  of  the 


i46  MOUNT  MUSIC 

fact  that,  on  that  afternoon  of  bewitchment,  Tishy  Mangan 
went  to  Larry's  head. 

These  temporary  abberations  are  afflictions  for  which  the 
most  refined  young  men  must  occasionally  be  prepared,  and 
Larry's  overthrow  was  not  without  justification.  Quite  apart 
from  her  looks — and  anyone  would  have  been  forced  to  admit 
that  they  were  undeniable — there  was  her  voice,  the  true  con- 
tralto timbre,  thick  and  mellow,  dark  and  sweet,  like  heather 
honey,  he  thought,  while  he  and  Georgy  sprawled  on  the 
grass  at  her  feet  (and  she  had  good  feet)  making  very  in- 
different jokes,  in  that  exaggerated  travesty  of  an  Irish 
brogue  which  is  often  all  that  an  English  school  will  leave 
with  Irish  boys,  and  vicing  with  each  other  in  the  folly 
proper  to  such  an  occasion. 

"I  don't  see  your  shoe-buckles!"  Larry  said,  looking  from 
her  feet  to  her  lips,  with  a  meaning  and  impudent  lift  of  his 
blue  eyes.  "Have  you  given  up  wearing  them?" 

Tishy's  colour  deepened;  she  remembered  instantly  what 
she  was  meant  to  remember. 

"You're  regretting  the  choice  you  made,  are  you?"  she 
said,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "Never  fear!  The  buckles 
will  be  there  when  they're  wanted !" 

"Don't  trouble  about  them!"  says  Larry,  tremendously 
pleased  with  his  success  as  a  flirtatious  man  of  the  world; 
"I  don't  think  they  will  be  required!" 

It  is  necessary  to  have  attained  to  a  reasonably  advanced 
age  to  be  able  to  recognise  pathos  in  the  fatuities  that  so  fre- 
quently form  a  feature  of  love's  young  dream.  Christian, 
listening  with  one  ear  to  her  brother  and  cousin,  while  into 
the  other  the  genuine  idiom  of  her  native  land  flowed, 
ardently,  from  the  now  unsealed  lips  of  Barty  Mangan, 
began  to  wonder  why  the  boys  were  talking  like  stage  Irish- 
men; Georgy,  she  knew,  was  idiot  enough  for  anything,  but 
she  had  to  admit  to  herself  that  Larry,  also,  was  rather  over- 
doing it.  Christian  was  able  to  feel  amused,  but  she  also 
felt,  quite  illogically,  that  what  had  been  distaste  for  Tishy 
Mangan  was  rapidly  deepening  into  dislike, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  147 

The  picnic  raged  on,  with  prodigious  eatings  and  drink- 
ings,  with  capsizings  of  teapots  in  full  sail,  with  disastrous 
slaughterings  of  insects  (disastrous  to  plates  and  tablecloths 
rather  than  to  the  insects)  with  facetious  doings  with  heated 
tea-spoons  and  pellets  of  bread,  with,  in  short,  all  that  Mrs. 
Mangan  and  her  fellow  hostesses  expected  of  a  truly  pros- 
perous picnic. 

Captain  Cloherty,  alone,  of  all  the  company,  failed  to  con- 
tribute his  share  to  the  sum  of  success.  He  sat  silent,  a 
thing  of  gloom,  the  lively  angle  of  whose  waxed,  red  mous- 
tache only  accentuated  the  downward  droop  of  the  mouth 
beneath  it.  But  the  skeleton  at  the  feast  has  its  uses,  if 
only  as  a  contrast,  and  Mrs.  Mangan,  who  was  more  obser- 
vant than  she  appeared  to  be,  noted  the  gloom  with  a 
gratified  eye,  and  being  entirely  aware  of  its  cause,  said  to 
herself  with  satisfaction: 

"Ha,  ha,  me  young  man!" 

This  picnic  was,  in  truth,  made  ever  memorable  in  the 
circle  of  Mrs.  Mangan's  friends  by  reason  of  the  triumph 
of  Tishy. 

"Ah,  that  was  the  day  she  cot  the  two  birds  under  the 
one  stone!"  Great-Aunt  Cantwell  (who  did  not  care  for  her 
great-niece)  was  accustomed  to  say.  "Well!  Such  goings- 
on  !  And  after  all,  Tishy's  nothing  so  much  out  of  the  way, 
for  all  Frankie  Mangan  thinks  the  world  should  die  down 
before  her!" 

The  two  birds  referred  to  were  still  fluttering  round  their 
captor,  when  a  new  element  was  added  to  the  party  in  the 
large  presence  of  "Frankie  Mangan"  himself.  The  Big 
Doctor  approached  slowly,  elephant-like  in  his  noiseless,  roll- 
ing gait,  impressive,  as  is  an  elephant,  in  size,  in  the  feeling 
he  imparted  of  restrained  strength,  of  intense  intelligence, 
masked,  as  in  an  elephant,  with  benevolence,  and  held  watch- 
fully in  reserve. 

He  now  advanced  upon  the  scene  of  festivity  with  purpose 
in  his  manner. 

"Now,  ladies!    Let  me  tell  you  I'm  come  on  a  very  un- 


I48  MOUNT  MUSIC 

popular  errand!  To  apply  the  closure!  I  think  you're  all 
sitting  out  here  long  enough  for  the  time  of  year.  Remem- 
ber it's  only  May!" 

"We're  more  likely  to  remember  it's  Mayn't!"  retorted 
Mrs.  Whelply,  who  was  a  recognised  wit,  and  opponent  of 
the  Big  Doctor.  "Isn't  it  enough  for  him  to  bully  us  when 
we're  sick,  but  he  comes  tormenting  us  when  we're  well, 
too!" 

Thus  she  appealed  to  her  fellow-matrons,  looking  round 
upon  them  for  support  with  a  festive  eye. 

"You'll  none  of  you  be  well  long,  if  you  don't  mind  your- 
selves!" answered,  with  equal  spirit,  the  Doctor,  with  a  quiet 
eye  on  his  daughter  and  her  attendant  swains. 

"Why  then  I  have  a  sore  throat  this  minute  with  scolding 
Mr.  Coppinger  for  the  nonsense  he's  talking!"  declared  Mrs. 
Whelply.  "Asking  me  to  sing  a  cawmic  at  the  concert  he 
says  he's  going  to  have !  There's  no  fear  but  whatever  /  sing 
will  be  cawmic  enough!" 

"I'm  sure  I'll  have  great  pleasure  in  cauterising  you!" 
responded  the  Doctor,  gallantly;  "but  if  you'll  take  my 
advice  now,  you  won't  want  so  much  of  it  later  on!" 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  take  me  on  the  river,"  said 
Tishy  in  a  low  voice  to  Larry,  looking  resentfully  at  her 
father. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  said  Larry,  quickly;  "much 
better  than  the  river — we'll  go  back  to  the  house  and  dance! 
I'll  fix  it  up  with  your  father!" 

"Good  egg!"  said  Sub-Lieut.  Talbot-Lowry,  with  seaman- 
like  decision,  "Miss  Mangan  will  kindly  note  all  waltzes 
are  reserved  for  use  of  naval  officers!" 

"Miss  Mangan  will  kindly  do  no  such  thing!"  returned 
that  young  lady,  dealing  a  flash  from  between  her  curled 
eyelashes  that  put  the  naval  officer  temporarily  out  of  action, 
so  devastating  was  its  effect. 

Had  not  Frederica  Coppinger,  resting  in  her  club  in 
Dublin,  after  a  severe  afternoon  with  her  dentist,  some  in- 
tuition, some  spirit-warning,  of  what  was  befalling  at  the 


MOUNT  MUSIC  149 

home  of  her  ancestors?  I  believe  that  those  spear-thrusts 
of  nerve-pain  that  assailed  her  just  before  dinner,  must  have 
been  the  result  of  the  wireless  summons  of  distress  sent  forth 
to  her  by  her  upper-housemaid. 

"What  next,  I  wonder,  will  Master  Larry  be  asking  for?" 
said  the  upper  housemaid  to  the  cook.  "The  drawing-room 
carpet  pitched  into  the  study,  and  Miss  Coppinger's  own 
room  turned  upside  down  for  the  riff-raff  of  Cluhir  to  be 
powdering  their  noses  in!  'Haven't  she  no  powder?'  says 
they.  'No  matter,'  says  the  Doctor's  daughter,  'sure  I  have 
a  book  of  it  in  me  little  bag!'  " 

"I  wouldn't  at  all  doubt  her!"  said  the  cook,  saturninely, 
"But  what's  the  drawn '-room  carpet  to  conjuring  a  supper 
out  of  me  pocket  in  five  minutes?  I  ask  you  that,  Eliza 
Hosford!" 

None  the  less,  with  that  deep  loyalty  to  the  honour  of  the 
house  that  is  a  feature  in  Irish  domestic  life  as  wonderful 
as  it  is  touching,  the  staff  of  Coppinger's  Court  were  resolved 
that — as  they  say  in  China — the  face  of  Master  Larry  should 
not  be  blackened,  and  The  Riff-Raff  of  Cluhir  were  served 
with  a  ceremony  and  a  success  that  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 

Dr.  Mangan  sat  in  a  very  large  armchair  in  front  of  a  big 
fire  of  logs,  in  the  hall,  and  smoked  meditatively,  and  was 
seemingly  quite  unaware  of  the  couples  who  moved  past  him 
between  the  dances,  passing  out  through  the  open  hall-door 
into  the  moon-lit  May  night.  He  did  not  even  raise  an 
eyelid  when  his  daughter  sailed  by  him,  as  she  did  many 
times,  with  the  ostentation  of  the  young  lady  who  is  aware 
that  her  prowess  is  the  subject  of  comment,  in  company, 
alternately,  with  the  two  captives  of  her  bow  and  spear  who 
had  offered  so  feeble  a  resistance  to  those  weapons.  Tishy 
and  her  father  alike  ascribed  her  victory  to  that  redoubtable 
and  already  creditably  battle-scarred  bow  and  spear;  they 
neither  of  them  recognised  the  acknowledgments  that  were 
due  to  a  certain  powerful  ally,  the  May  moon.  She  had 
stolen  up  the  sky  at  the  back  of  the  weods.  The  first  Larry 
knew  of  her  was  the  vast,  incredible,  pale  disc  behind  the 


150  MOUNT  MUSIC 

topmost  boughs  of  the  pine  trees,  so  near  that  it  seemed  to 
him  as  though  the  crooked  black  branches  alone  were  holding 
her  back,  and  that  her  white  fire  that  was  pouring  through 
them  must  consume  them,  "and  then  it  will  be  our  turn," 
he  said,  seriously,  and  without  preamble,  to  Tishy. 

"Our  turn  for  what?"  asked  Tishy,  very  naturally. 

"Our  turn  to  be  resolved  into  moonshine.  You'll  see  me 
fading  away  into  silver  smoke  in  a  minute,"  replied  Larry. 
"Let's  get  out  of  this,  I'm  getting  frightened!  Hold  my 
hand  tight!" 

"Go  on  with  your  nonsense!"  said  Tishy.  "And  will 
you  tell  me  how  can  I  hold  your  hand  when  it's  round  my 
waist  ?" 

Which  was  reasonable  enough,  and  may  be  taken  as  a 
sufficient  indication  of  what  the  moon  was  already  responsible 
for. 

A  point  of  red  light  moved  in  the  darkness  above  the  seat 
under  the  laurels,  to  which  they  were  repairing,  and  the  scent 
of  a  Virginian  cigarette  was  wafted  to  them. 

"Who's  that?"  Tishy  whispered,  pressing  nearer  to  Larry; 
but  she  was  agreeably  certain  that  it  was  the  gloomy  and 
misanthropic  Captain  Cloherty,  whose  place  of  refuge  they 
had  invaded. 

Christian,  meanwhile,  unlike  Captain  Cloherty,  was  con- 
scientiously endeavouring  to  enjoy  herself,  and  was  finding 
that  the  wheels  of  the  chariot  of  pleasure  drave  heavily.  Thai 
Barty  Mangan  was  a  good  dancer  was  an  alleviation,  but 
among  those  stigmatised  by  Eliza  Hosford  as  the  riff-raff 
of  Cluhir,  those  now  forgotten  measures  of  the  first  years 
of  this  century,  the  prancing  barn-dance,  the  capering  pas- 
dc-quatre,  lent  themselves  to  a  violence  that,  even  at  the 
uncritical  age  of  eighteen,  Christian  found  overpowering. 
"They  danced  like  the  Priests  of  Baal,"  she  told  Judith. 
"One  expected  to  see  them  cut  themselves  with  knives!" 

The  information  that  the  dog-cart  had  come  for  her  was 
of  the  nature  of  a  release.  Barty  put  her  into  it.  The  May 
moon  shone  on  his  pale  face  as  he  looked  up  at  Christian, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  151 

and  reverently  took  her  hand  in  farewell.  She  had  begun 
to  find  his  dark  and  humble  devotion  oppressive;  she  liked 
him,  which  did  not  prevent  her  from  thanking  heaven  when 
he  released  her  hand  from  a  pressure  that  had  lasted  longer 
than  he  knew.  He  stood  on  the  gravel  and  watched  the 
departing  dog-cart  vanish,  like  a  ghostly  thing,  into  the 
elusive  mist  of  moonlight.  The  May  moon,  now  sailing  full 
overhead,  looked  with  a  broad  satisfaction  on  the  hardest  hit 
of  her  victims. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AT  intervals  in  all  histories  there  comes  a  pause,  in  which 
the  moralities  proper  to  the  occasion  are  assembled,  ex- 
pounded and  expanded.  Such  a  moment  might  now  seem 
to  have  arrived,  its  theme  being  the  grain-of-mustard-seed- 
like  character  of  the  Cluhir  picnic,  as  compared  with  the 
events  that  subsequently  dwelt  in  its  branches,  nesting  there, 
and  raising  up  other  events  that  flew  far  and  wide,  farther 
and  wider  than  they  can  here  be  followed.  But  since 
moralities  appeal  only  to  the  moral  (to  whom  they  are 
superfluous)  it  seems  advisable  to  proceed  at  once  to  the 
primary  result,  which  was  the  concert,  that  sprang  like  a 
Phoenix  from  the  ashes  of  that  fire  on  which  the  picnic  kettle 
was  boiled. 

The  scheme  had  various  appeals  for  its  two  chief  promo- 
ters, young  Mr.  Coppinger  and  Sub.  Lieut.  Talbot-Lowry, 
R.N.  Immanent  in  it  was  the  necessity  for  frequent,  almost 
for  daily,  visits  to  No.  6,  The  Mall,  Cluhir.  For  the  for- 
mer of  these  gentlemen,  whose  acquaintance  with  the  Man- 
gan  family  was  now  of  long,  if  of  intermittent,  familiarity, 
these  visits  afforded  a  less  thrilling  emotion  than  they  held 
for  the  latter,  who  found  himself  honoured  and  welcomed 
in  a  degree  to  which  he  was  quite  unaccustomed  at  home. 
Larry  was  not  quite  sure  that  he  approved  of  this  blaze  of 
social  success  for  his  young  cousin.  It  is  one  thing  to  re- 
ceive, languidly,  the  adulation  of  those  in  whom  such  adu- 
lation may  be  regarded  as  an  indication  of  a  widening 
horizon;  but  when  an  equal  veneration  is  lavished  upon  the 
junior  and  disdained  play- fellow  of  earlier  years,  the  result 
is  often  a  reconsideration  of  values.  The  May  madness 

152 


MOUNT  MUSIC  153 

that  rose  like  a  mist  from  the  bluebells  in  the  woods  of  the 
Ownashee,  and  culminated  in  the  magical  light  of  the  full 
moon,  began  to  lift  from  the  spirit  of  young  Mr.  Coppinger, 
leaving  him,  as  he  formulated  it  to  himself  (and  found  much 
satisfaction  in  the  formula)  bereft,  bored,  and  benignant.  He 
was  quite  prepared  to  retire  gracefully  in  favour  of  Georgy, 
and  was  pleased  with  the  thought  that  his  interest  in  Tishy 
had  been  merely  the  outcome  of  a  mood — I'apres-midi  d'un 
faune — so  to  speak.  There  was  something  artistic  in  these 
transient  emotions,  and  his  future,  as  at  present  determined, 
was  to  be  devoted  to  art;  certainly  not  to  Tishy  Mangan. 
Yes,  he  would  leave  Tishy  to  Georgy;  all  but  her  voice;  in 
that,  as  an  artist,  he  still  retained  an  interest,  the  interest 
of  the  impresario,  whose  search  for  stars  is  as  absorbing  as 
is  that  of  the  astronomer  in  pursuits  of  new  worlds. 

The  passion  and  energy  of  the  promoter  are,  it  may  be 
supposed,  born  in  human  beings  in  a  certain  proportion  to 
those  who  are  to  become  their  victims.  In  Larry,  both  qual- 
ities were  highly  developed,  and  in  no  way  did  he  prove  the 
genuineness  of  his  heaven-given  flair  more  surely  than  in 
his  discovery  and  annexation  of  Christian,  as  that  rare  and 
precious  thing,  a  sympathetic  and  capable  accompanist. 

But  although  the  thought  of  dwelling  upon  this  and  other 
of  the  details  of  the  Cluhir  concert,  is  appealing,  it  must 
be  dismissed.  So  much  has  already  been  said  in  the  hope 
that  some  further  indications  as  to  the  character  and  con- 
duct of  some  of  our  young  friends  may  have  been  deduced ; 
but  now,  certain  glossings  upon  the  household  of  Mount 
Music  must  be  inflicted,  since  it  is  with  it,  rather  than  with 
the  capabilities  of  young  Mr.  Coppinger's  troupe,  that  we 
are  mainly  occupied. 

It  is  not  easy  to  say  whether  the  process  of  emergence  from 
the  sheath  of  childhood,  a  condition  that  has  characteristics 
more  or  less  common  to  us  all,  is  more  interesting  to  feel 
than  to  observe.  In  Christian's  case,  the  interest  was  felt 
exclusively  by  herself,  her  family  being  healthily  absorbed 
in  the  conjugation  of  the  three  primary  verbs,  to  be,  to  do, 


154  MOUNT  MUSIC 

and  to  have,  in  relation,  exclusively,  to  themselves,  and  that 
merely  from  the  skin  outwards.  Soul-processes  and  develop- 
ments were  unknown  to  them  in  life,  and  were  negligible 
in  books.  Lady  Isabel  pursued  her  blameless  way,  doing 
nothing  in  particular,  diligently  and  unpunctually,  and  spend- 
ing much  time  in  writing  long  and  loving  letters  to  those  of 
her  family  who  were  no  longer  beneath  her  wing,  in  that 
particular  type  of  large  loose  handwriting  whose  indefinite 
spikes  stab  to  the  heart  any  hope  of  literary  interest.  Who 
shall  say  that  she  did  not  do  her  duty  according  to  her 
lights?  But  she  was  certainly  quite  unconscious  of  such 
matters  as  soul-processes. 

Alone  of  the  Mount  Music  children,  Christian  was  aware 
of  an  inner  personality  to  be  considered,  some  spirit  that 
heard  and  responded  to  those  voices  and  intimations  that,  as 
a  little  child,  she  had  accepted  as  a  commonplace  cJ  every 
day.  By  the  time  that  she  was  sixteen  the  voices  had  been 
discouraged,  if  not  stilled,  their  intimations  dulled ;  but  she 
had  discovered  her  soul,  and  had  discovered  also,  that  it  had 
been  born  on  the  farther  side  of  the  river  of  life  from  the 
souls  of  her  brethren,  and  that  although,  for  the  first  stages, 
the  stream  was  narrow,  and  the  way  on  one  bank  very  like 
that  on  the  other,  the  two  paths  were  divided  by  deep  water, 
and  the  river  widened  with  the  passing  years. 

Richard,  pursuing  the  usual  course  of  Irish  eldest  sons, 
had  adopted  the  profession  least  adapted  for  young  men  of 
small  means,  and  large  spending  capacity,  and  had  gone  into 
his  father's  old  regiment.  John,  the  zealot  of  an  earlier 
day,  was  at  Oxford,  considering  the  Church ;  Georgy's  career 
has  been  announced,  and  the  remaining  twin  had,  with  the 
special  predisposition  of  his  family  towards  financial  failure, 
selected  the  profession  of  land-agent,  in  a  country  in  which 
peasant-proprietorship  was  already  in  the  air,  and  would  soon 
become  an  accomplished  fact. 

There  remains,  to  complete  the  family  history,  Judith, 
and  she,  now  aged  twenty-one,  was  possibly  the  sole  member 
of  the  house  of  Talbot-Lowry  for  whom  a  successful  future 


MOUNT  MUSIC  155 

might  confidently  be  anticipated.  Judith,  a  buccaneer  by 
nature  and  by  practice,  was  habitually  engaged  in  swash- 
bucklering  it  on  a  round  of  visits.  She  was  good-looking, 
tall,  talkative,  and  an  able  player  of  all  the  games  proper 
to  the  state  of  life  to  which  she  had  been  called.  She  was 
a  competent  guest,  giving  as  much  entertainment  as  she 
received,  being  of  those  who  contribute  as  efficiently  in- 
directly, as  directly,  to  conversation,  and  are  normally 
involved  in  one  of  those  skirmishes  of  the  heart,  that  can- 
not be  described  as  engagements,  but  that,  none  the  less, 
invest  th*»ir  heroines  with  an  atmosphere  of  respect,  and 
provide  hostesses  with  subjects  of  anxiety  and  interest.  At 
an  early  age,  Christian  was  promoted  by  her  elder  sister  to 
the  position  of  confidante,  and  justified  the  promotion  by 
the  happy  mixture  of  sympathy  and  cynicism  with  which  she 
received  the  confidences.  She  was  now  well  versed  in  the 
brief  passions  that,  beginning  at  the  second  or  third  dance 
of  a  regimental  ball,  would,  like  some  night-flowering  tropic 
blossom,  arrive  at  full  splendour  by  supper  time,  and  would 
expire  languorously,  to  the  strains  of  "God  save  the  King." 
Christian,  though  young,  was,  as  had  been  said,  a  capable 
audience.  She  could  listen,  with  the  severe  and  youthful 
grace  that  seemed  to  set  her  a  little  apart  from  others  of  her 
standing,  to  the  feats  of  Judith  and  her  fellow-blackguards, 
savouring  and  appraising  the  absurdities,  and  her  comments 
upon  them  were  offered  with  a  sympathetic  and  skilled  com- 
prehension that  excused  her  in  Judith's  eyes  for  her  lack  of 
ambition  to  emulate  them. 

Dick  Talbot-Lowry  had  ceased  to  boast  of  the  predomi- 
nance of  the  masculine  gender  among  his  offsprings,  and 
rarely  alluded  to  his  sons  without  coupling  with  their  names 
a  vigorous  statement  of  how  far  in  excess  of  their  value  was 
their  cost,  usually  ending  with  an  enquiry  into  the  dark 
rulings  of  Providence,  who  had  bestowed  an  expensive  family 
with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  had  taken  away  the 
means  of  supporting  it.  Dick  was  sixty-four  now,  an  un- 


156  MOUNT  MUSIC 

happy  moment  in  a  dashing  and  artless  career,  with  the 
shadow  of  advancing  old  age  blighting  and  reproving  the 
still  ardent  enjoyment  of  the  pleasures  of  youth. 

"I'm  an  old  man  now!"  Dick  would  say,  without  either 
feeling  or  meaning  it,  and  would  bitterly  resent  the  failure 
of  his  sons  to  contradict  a  statement  with  which  they  were 
in  complete  agreement.  Only  Christian,  "of  all  his  halls 
had  nursed,"  tried  to  maintain  her  father  in  a  good  conceit 
of  himself,  and  to  "rise  his  heart";  but  there  are  few  hearts 
for  which  it  is  more  difficult  to  perform  that  office  than  the 
heart  of  a  man,  who,  having  ever  (as  King  David  says) 
taken  pleasure  in  the  strength  of  horses,  and  delighted  in  his 
own  legs,  is  beginning  to  find  that  the  former  have  become 
too  strong,  and  the  latter  too  weak  for  either  comfort  or 
confidence. 

And  not  these  things  only  were  troubling  Dick.  The 
common  lot  of  Irish  landlords,  and  Pterodactyl!,  was  upon 
him,  and  he  was  in  process  of  becoming  extinct.  It  was  his 
fate  to  see  his  income  gradually  diminishing,  being  eaten 
away,  as  the  sea  eats  away  a  bulwark-less  shore,  by  succes- 
sive Acts  of  Parliament,  and  the  machinery  they  created,  "for 
the  purpose,"  as  old  Lord  Ardmore  was  fond  of  fulminat- 
ing, of  "pillaging  loyal  Peter  in  order  to  pamper  rebel  Paul!" 
The  opinion  of  very  old,  and  intolerant,  and  indignant  peers 
cannot  always  be  taken  seriously,  but  it  is  surely  permissible 
to  feel  a  regret  for  kindly,  improvident  Dick  Talbot-Lowry, 
his  youth  and  his  income  departing  together,  and  the  civic 
powers  that  he  had  once  exercised,  reft  from  him.  Such 
power  as  he  had  had,  he  had  exercised  honourably  and  with 
reverent  confidence  in  precedent,  and  when  he  had  damned 
Parnell,  and  had  asserted,  in  stentorian  tones,  that  Crom- 
well was  the  only  man  who  had  ever  known  how  to  govern 
Ireland,  and  he,  unfortunately,  was  now  in  hell;  where,  the 
Major  would  add,  he  was  probably  better  off,  his  contribu- 
tion to  constructive  politics  had  ended.  He  and  his  genera- 
tion, reactionary  almost  to  a  man,  instead  of  attempting  to 
ride  the  waves  of  the  rising  tide,  subscribed  their  guineas  to 


MOUNT  MUSIC  157 

construct  breakwaters  that  were  pathetic  in  their  futility. 
Gallant  in  resistance,  barren  in  expedient,  history  may  con- 
demn the  folly  of  the  Old  Guard  of  the  "English  Garrison," 
but  it  cannot  deny,  even  though  it  may  deride,  its  fidelity. 


CHAPTER  XX 

LADY  ISABEL  TALBOT-LOWRY  had  invited  what  is  concisely 
spoken  of  as  "people"  to  tea  and  tennis.  The  month  was 
June,  but  the  weather  was  March,  or  at  best,  a  sullen  and 
overcast  April.  The  purport  of  the  entertainment  had  been 
the  exhibition,  to  rival  amateurs,  of  the  Mount  Music  her- 
baceous borders,  which,  though  "not  looking  quite  their  best," 
were  as  nearly  approximating  to  that  never-achieved  ideal,  as 
is  ever  the  case  with  either  gardens  or  children;  but  showers 
of  chill  rain  had  marred  the  display,  and  the  lawn  tennis 
was  fitful,  and  subject  to  frequent  interruption.  In  these 
circumstances,  a  fire  of  turf  and  logs  did  not  need  apologies 
for  its  presence,  and  Lady  Isabel  and  her  companion  Heads 
of  Households  sat  with  it  as  their  focal  point,  and  thought, 
as  they  saw  the  players  flitting  to  and  fro  between  the 
showers,  and  the  house,  and  the  lawn  tennis  grounds,  that 
middle  age  had  privileges  that  were  not  to  be  despised. 

The  long  and  lofty  drawing-room  of  Mount  Music  was 
a  pleasant  place  enough,  even  on  this  showery  day.  Some 
five  or  six  generations  of  Talbot-Lowrys  had  lived  in  it,  and 
left  their  marks  on  it,  and  though  the  indelible  hand  of 
Victoria,  in  youthful  vigour,  had  had,  perhaps,  the  most 
perceptible  influence  on  it  as  a  whole,  the  fancies  and  fashions 
of  Major  Dick's  great-grandmother  still  held  their  places. 
An  ottoman,  large  as  a  merry-go-round  at  a  fair,  immovable 
as  an  island,  occupied,  immutably,  the  space  in  the  centre 
of  the  room  immediately  under  a  great  cut-glass  chandelier. 
Facing  it  was  the  fireplace,  an  affair  of  complicated  design, 
with  "Nelson  ropes"  and  knots,  and  coils,  in  worked  and 
twisted  brass,  and  deep  hobs,  in  whose  construction  the  needs 
of  a  punch-kettle  had  not  been  forgotten.  Above  it,  a  high, 
delicately-inlaid  marble  .mantelpiece,  brought  from  Italy  by 

158 


MOUNT  MUSIC  159 

Dick's  great-grandfather,  was  surmounted  by  a  narrow  ledge 
of  marble,  just  wide  enough  to  support  the  base  of  a  Georgian 
mirror  of  flamboyant  design,  in  whose  dulled  and  bluish 
depths  were  reflected  the  row  of  old  white  china  birds,  that 
were  seated,  each  on  its  own  rock,  on  the  shelf  in  front  of  it. 
Family  portraits  in  frames  whose  charm  of  design  and  colour 
made  atonement  for  the  indifference  of  the  painting,  alter- 
nated with  brown  landscapes  in  which  castles,  bridges,  and 
impenetrable  groves  were  dimly  to  be  discovered  through 
veils  of  varnish;  flotillas  of  miniatures  had  settled,  like 
groups  of  flies,  wherever  on  the  crowded  walls  foothold 
could  be  found,  and  water-colours,  pencil-drawings,  and 
photographs,  rilled  any  remaining  space.  There  were  long 
and  implacable  sofas,  each  with  its  conventional  sofa-table 
in  front  of  it;  Empire  consoles,  with  pieces  of  china  incred- 
ibly diverse  in  style,  beauty,  and  value,  jostling  each  other 
on  the  marble  slabs;  woolwork  screens,  worked  by  forgotten 
aunts  and  grandmothers,  chairs  of  every  known  breed,  and 
tables,  tables  everywhere,  and  not  a  corner  on  one  of  them 
on  which  anything  more  could  be  deposited.  The  claims  of 
literature  were  acknowledged,  but  without  enthusiasm.  A 
tall,  glass-fronted  cupboard,  inaccessibly  placed  behind  the 
elongated  tail  of  an  early  grand  piano,  was  filled  with  ornate 
miniature  editions  of  the  classics,  that  would  have  defied  an 
effort — had  such  ever  been  made — to  remove  them  from 
their  shelves,  whereon  they  had  apparently  been  bedded  in 
cement,  like  mosaic.  It  was  a  room  that,  in  its  bewildering 
diversity,  might  have  broken  the  hearts  of  housemaids  or 
decorators;  untidy,  without  plan,  with  rubbish  contending 
successfully  with  museum-pieces,  with  the  past  and  present 
struggling  in  their  eternal  rivalry;  yet,  a  human  place,  a 
place  full  of  the  magnetism  that  is  born  of  past  happiness, 
a  place  to  which  all  its  successive  generations  of  sons  and 
daughters  looked  back  with  that  softening  of  the  heart  that 
comes,  when  in,  perhaps,  a  far-away  country,  memories  of 
youth  return,  and  with  them  the  thought  of  home. 
The  ladies  who,  constant  to  the  saner  pleasures  of  convcr- 


160  MOUNT  MUSIC 

sation  and  tea,  had  disposed  themselves  round  and  about 
Lady  Isabel's  tea-table,  were  of  the  inner  circle  of  the  friends 
of  the  house,  and  owned,  as  is  usually  the  case  where  habits 
and  environment  are  practically  identical,  a  common  point 
of  view,  and  no  more  diversity  of  opinion  than  is  enough  to 
stimulate  conversation.  Such  of  them  as  had  compelled 
husbands  or  sons  to  accompany  them,  had  shaken  them  off 
at  the  lawn  tennis  ground,  and  though  loud  cawings  from 
the  hall  indicated  that  certain  of  the  more  elderly  males  had 
congregated  there,  the  ladies  in  the  drawing-room  had,  so 
far,  been  "unmolested  by  either  the  young  people  or  the 
men." 

Thus,  Miss  Frederica  Coppinger  phrased  it  to  those  of 
her  allies  with  whom  she  was  now  holding  sweet  commu- 
nion. The  allies,  albeit  separated  by  intervals  of  from  five  to 
ten  miles  of  rough  and  often  hilly  road,  met  with  sufficient 
frequency  to  keep  touch,  yet  not  often  enough  to  crush  the 
ultimate  fragrance  from  the  flower  of  gossip.  Their  most 
recent  meeting  had  taken  place  at  the  concert,  which  had  been 
Larry's  last  achievement  before  his  return  to  Oxford,  and 
although  they  had  not  been  oppressively  hampered  by  the 
convention  of  silence  at  such  entertainments,  conversation 
had  been  necessarily  somewhat  thwarted. 

"They  made  quite  a  useful  little  sum  at  Larry's  concert," 
said  Frederica.  "Local  charities — which  meant  the  Fowl 
Fund,  of  course — and  Mr.  Cotton  and  Father  Greer.  Dick 
said  he  would  not  support  it  if  his  old  women  were  not 
helped — abominable  cheats  though  most  of  them  are!" 

"I  feel  for  them!"  said  Mrs.  Kirby,  intensely.  'Wo  one 
knows  the  misery  and  the  beggary  inflicted  on  me  by  the 
foxes  that  Bill  encourages  about  the  place !" 

A  sympathetic  imagination  enabled  her  friends  to  realise 
the  misery  and  beggary  which  Mrs.  Kirby 's  exceedingly 
cheerful  and  prosperous  appearance  concealed.  Both 
groaned  appropriately,  and  Miss  Coppinger  made  the  sweep- 
ing statement  that  she  detested  hunting  in  all  its  ramifica- 
tions. "We  are  always  told  that  its  great  merit  is  that  it 


MOUNT  MUSIC  161 

brings  all  classes  together,"  she  continued.  "In  my  opinion 
that  is  a  very  dubious  advantage,  if,  indeed,  it  is  not  a  draw- 
back!" 

Mrs.  Kirby  permitted  her  glance  to  commune  for  a  brief 
instant  with  that  of  the  third  lady,  Mrs.  St.  George. 

"Like  mixed  concerts!"  said  Mrs.  St.  George,  in  a  deep 
and  awful  voice. 

"Mixed  pickles!"  murmured  Mrs.  Kirby,  and  chuckled 
at  her  jest. 

Miss  Frederica  flushed. 

"My  dear  Louisa,"  she  said,  resentfully,  "I  am  perfectly 
aware  of  their  disadvantages,  but  I  should  be  obliged  to  you 
if  you  would  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do!  It  is  the  difference 
in  religion  that  makes  me  powerless.  Powerless!"  she  re- 
peated looking  almost  with  triumph  upon  her  companions,  so 
irrefutable  was  her  case. 

"I  hope  I'm  not  a  bigot,"  said  Mrs.  St.  George 
impressively;  "but  I  thank  God  I'm  not  a  Roman 
Catholic!" 

"  'Not  as  other  men  are'!"  quoted  Miss  Coppinger,  with 
some  acidity.  Even  though  she  agreed  with  the  sentiment, 
she  could  not  forget  that  Larry  was  her  nephew. 

"Oh,  it  isn't  the  actual  religion  I  was  thinking  of,"  said 
Mrs.  St.  George,  rather  hurriedly,  Larry's  disadvantages 
having  temporarily  escaped  her  memory.  "It  was  rather — 
well " 

"For  boys  it  doesn't  matter  so  much,"  broke  in  Mrs. 
Kirby,  "but  I  really  did  dislike  seeing  Christian  on  the  plat- 
form with  that  party!" 

"She  was  only  playing  accompaniments,"  said  Miss  Cop- 
pinger, still  resentful. 

"That  only  made  it  worse!  If  she  had  sung  a  solo  it 
would  have  been  less  humiliating,"  replied  Mrs.  Kirby,  with 
a  masterly  change  of  front.  "I  was  indignant!  Christian, 
with  her  charming  voice,  only  playing  accompaniments  and 
singing  in  the  glees,  and  that  unendurable  Mangan  girl  pos- 
ing as  the  Prima  Donna,  and  oh!  her  clothes!" 


162  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"Or  her  want  of  them !"  interposed  Mrs.  St.  George,  on 
a  profound  bass  note. 

"And  her  songs!  I  don't  profess  to  know  much  about 
music,  but  I  do  know  what  I  like!"  continued  Mrs.  Kirby, 
with  the  finality  and  decision  that  usually  accompany  this 
admission.  "People  may  tell  me  she  has  a  fine  voice,  but  I 
detest  enormous  contralto  voices!  What  I  suffered  during 
the  last  thing  she  sang  as  an  encore!  And  that  final  yell  of 
'Asthore'!  at  least  an  octave  below  her  voice!  I  could 
only  think  of  the  bellow  of  the  cow  that  jumped  over  the 
moon !"  , 

"What  made  me  indignant,"  said  Mrs.  St.  George,  in 
emulous  depreciation,  ignoring  this  flight  of  fancy,  "was 
their  not  having  'God  save  the  King'!  A  cowardly  con- 
cession to  the  Gaelic  League,  of  course!  I  really  think  that 
Georgy,  who  is  in  the  Navy,  might  have  insisted  upon  it!" 

"They  did  discuss  it,"  said  Frederica,  forced  by  her  friends 
into  the  position  of  devil's  advocate,  "but  they  were  afraid 
of  the  sixpenny  seats.  The  Mangans  said  that  there  would 
inevitably  be  rows.  They  have  had  to  give  up  having  it 
at  anything  now." 

This  was  unanswerable,  and  Mrs.  St.  George  tacitly  ac- 
cepted defeat. 

"I  believe  that  young  Mangan  is  simply  a  Rebel/'  resumed 
Mrs.  Kirby,  portentously.  "Bill  thinks  he'll  go  too  far 
some  day,  and  the  police  will  have  to  take  notice  of  him. 
But  with  the  Government  yielding  and  pandering " 

Here,  at  least,  was  a  subject  on  which  all  three  disputants 
were  in  complete  agreement.  Wolfe  Tone  or  Robert  Emmet 
could  hardly  have  abhorred  the  Government  of  England 
more  heartily  than  did  these  three  respectable,  law-abiding, 
unalterably-Unionist  ladies,  and  for  some  time  the  more 
recent  enormities  of  the  rule  upon  which  they  theoretically 
bestowed  their  unshakable  allegiance,  took  precedence  of 
Miss  Mangan  as  a  subjct  of  disapproval. 

"Nevertheless,"  summed  up  Mrs.  St.  George  gloomily, 
at  the  end  of  a  sweeping  condemnation,  "we  must  submit. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  163 

We  can  do  nothing.  As  Courtney  says,  we  can't  cut  ofi 
cows'  tails  and  shoot  our  tenants  for  not  paying  their  rent! 
He  says " 

Colonel  St.  George's  further  views  were  lost  in  the  en- 
trance of  the  lawn  tennis  players,  rain-sprinkled,  heated, 
bringing  with  them  a  lively  aroma  of  trodden  grass  and  wet 
flannel,  and  convinced  of  their  superiority  to  those  who  had 
sought  shelter,  and  were  now  (to  quote  Miss  Talbot-Lowry) 
soddenly  eating  all  the  hot  cakes.  Judith  had  recently  re- 
turned from  one  of  her  forays,  and  had  not  spared  her  family 
her  views  on  the  rapprochement  with  the  musical  world  of 
Cluhir  that  the  concert  had  involved.  She  was  now  seated 
with  Bill  Kirby  on  a  secluded  sofa  in  a  corner  of  the  long 
drawing-room,  and  was  entertaining  that  deeply-enamoured 
young  man  with  her  accustomed  fluency. 

Mr.  Kirby,  having  petted  and  patronised  Judith  in  her 
youth,  when  he  was  still  nine  years  older  than  she,  had,  since 
her  recent  return,  awakened  to  the  fact  that  this  difference 
in  age  had  been  mysteriously  obliterated,  and  that  at  present, 
Judith  was  not  only  his  superior  in  intelligence,  but  also  in 
all  those  subsidiary  matters  in  which  age  is  generally  and 
erroneously  believed  to  confer  an  advantage. 

"If  it  had  even  been  a  good  concert,"  Judith  remarked, 
gobbling  tea  and  cake  with  a  heartiness  that,  taken  in  con- 
nection with  an  admirable  complexion  and  very  clear  blue 
eyes,  was  in  itself  attractive  to  a  hungry  young  man,  "I 
could  have  borne  it  better.  But  it  was  absolutely  deadly — 
all  but  just  our  own  people's  turns,  of  course — a  sort  of 
lyrical  geography — the  map  of  Ireland  set  to  music!  Bantry 
Bay,  Killarney,  the  Mountains  of  Somewhere,  the  Waters 
of  Somewhere  else,  all  Irish,  of  course!  I  get  so  sick  of 
Ireland  and  her  endearing  young  charms — and  all  the  en- 
treaties to  Erin  to  remember!  As  if  she  ever  forgot!" 

"She  remembers  her  enemies,  all  right,"  rejoined  Bill 
Kirby,  gloomily,  "but  she  forgets  her  friends !  I  know  some- 
one who  hasn't  got  any  enemies  to  remember,  but  she's  just 
like  Ireland  in  one  way!" 


164  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"What  way?"  demanded  Judith,  "and  who  do  you  mean?" 

"You  know  very  well  who  I  mean !  And  the  reason  she's 
like  Ireland  is  that  she  forgets  her  friends !  People  who  used 
to  give  her  leads  out  hunting  when  she  was  a  little  girl, 
and  never  forgot  her/" 

"In  the  first  place,  I  deny  it,  and  in  the  second  place,  it 
serves  them  right  if  she  does  forget  them,"  replied  Judith 
tranquilly;  "I  don't  know  the  injured  beings  you  refer  to, 
but  I  do  know  my  own  family.  I  take  my  eye  off  them  for 
five  minutes,  and  I  come  home  to  find  they  have  not  only 
forgotten  my  existence,  but  they  have  plunged  into  the  heart 
of  that  appalling  Cluhir  crowd,  and  are  indignant  with  me 
— at  least  the  boys  and  papa  are — because  I  don't  do  the 
same!  Strange  as  it  may  appear,  /  like  nice  people!" 

"I  wasn't  talking  of  your  family,"  said  Bill  Kirby, 
morosely,  "Hang  it  all.  I'm  quite  a  nice  person,  and  / 
haven't  plunged  into  the  heart  of  Cluhir,  but  it's  only  by  a 
sort  of  accident,  like  this,  that  you  will  ever  say  a  word 
to  me!" 

"You'd  better  insure  against  accidents  of  this  kind!"  said 
Judith,  who  was  frankly  enjoying  herself ;  "and  if  you  choose 
to  renounce  the  charms  of  Cluhir,  you  needn't  make  a  virtue 
of  it!  Perhaps  they  don't  want  you!  They  mayn't  realise 
what  a  nice  person  you  are!  Would  you  like  me  to  explain 
to  Tishy  Mangan " 

Bill  Kirby,  who  was  possessed  of  good  brown  eyes  and  a 
profile  like  a  handsome  battle-axe,  was  a  young  man  of  no 
special  intellectual  gifts,  but  the  sound  judgment  that  dis- 
tinguished him  in  the  hunting-field  was  wont  to  stand  his 
friend  in  other  emergencies.  He  was  entirely  aware  that  he 
was  no  match  for  Judith  in  debate,  but  he  was  also  aware 
that  deeds  sometimes  speak  louder  than  words.  He  at- 
tempted no  spoken  reply,  but  after  a  wary  glance  round  the 
room,  he  permitted  his  large,  brown  hand  to  descend  upon 
and  envelop  Judith's,  that  rested  on  the  sofa  beside  him. 

"You  know  you're  talking  rot,"  he  murmured,  cautiously, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  165 

"No,  don't  struggle.  If  you  say  things  like  that,  you've 
got  to  be  punished.  Are  you  sorry?" 

"Not  in  the  least!"  replied  Judith,  with  an  equal  caution; 
"but  you  will  be,  soon !  Mrs.  St.  George  is  looking  at  you !" 

The  battle-axe  profile  of  Mr.  Kirby  betrayed  no  hint  of 
the  situation. 

"Keep  quiet,  and  say  you're  sorry!  /  don't  mind  sitting 
here  all  the  afternoon — like  this,"  he  added,  with  a  slight 
additional  pressure. 

"I  shall  count  three,"  said  Judith  suavely,  "and  then  I 
shall  ask  you  in  a  loud,  clear  voice  to  get  me  another  cup 
of  tea.  One " 

Further  developments  of  the  situation  need  not  be  at- 
tempted, the  more  so  as  at  this  juncture  the  entrance  of  two 
uninvited  guests  caused  a  redistribution  of  seats,  whose  most 
marked  feature  was  the  creation  of  a  desert  space  round  the 
new  arrivals  and  their  hostess. 

It  would  perhaps  be  irregular  to  say  that  the  Reverend 
Matthew  and  Mrs.  Cotton  were  the  incumbents  of  the 
parish  church  of  Cluhir  (and  had  been  profanely  described 
as  "the  incumbrance  of  Cluhir")  ;  even  to  speak  of  them  as, 
respectively,  its  curate  and  its  rector,  might,  though  more 
accurate,  be,  perhaps,  considered  flippant.  It  would  also 
be  open  to  the  reproach  of  lack  of  originality.  Yet,  un- 
original though  the  dominant  clergywoman  of  fiction  may 
be,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  St.  Paul's  injunctions  in  connec- 
tion with  the  subjection  of  wives  did  not  commend  them- 
selves to  Mrs.  Cotton.  It  may  be,  indeed,  that  her  views  on 
matrimony,  being  more  instructed,  were  sounder  than  those 
of  St.  Paul,  and  she  could  at  least  argue  that  had  he  been 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Cotton  he  might  have  modified  them. 
In  any  case,  whatever  St.  Paul  might  think  about  it,  Mrs. 
Cotton  was  quite  sure  that  she  was  better  fitted  than  was 
her  husband  to  deal  with  the  matter  that  had  brought  them 
to  Mount  Music. 

She  did  not,  however,  as  becomes  a  sound  tactician,  ap- 


1 66  MOUNT  MUSIC 

proach  the  point  with  undue  directness.  Lady  Isabel  had 
sent  her  daughters  to  school  in  Paris;  Lady  Isabel  had,  on 
a  bygone  occasion,  been  goaded  by  Mrs.  Cotton  into  a 
declaration  that  her  servants'  religion  was  a  matter  with 
which  she  only  concerned  herself  if  they  neglected  their 
religious  duties.  Mrs.  Cotton,  remembering  these  things, 
and  being  ever  filled  to  brimming  with  what  Christian  had 
called  The  Spirit  of  the  Nation,  opened  with  a  general 
attack  upon  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  narrowed  to  a  tale 
of  "a  friend  of  mine  and  Mr.  Cotton's.  A  clergyman.  A 
man  of  private  means."  After  this  stimulating  prelude,  the 
tale  ceased  for  a  moment,  while  Mrs.  Cotton  blinked  her 
small  black  eyes  at  her  hostess,  several  times,  as  was  her 
practice.  "Oh,  a  very  wealthy  man!"  she  continued,  im- 
posingly, "and  he  bought  a  lovely  house,  with  a  garden;  a 
lovely  garden!"  The  thought  of  a  garden  was  a  fortunate 
one,  and  enlisted  Lady  Isabel's  wandering  attention.  "But 
at  the  end  of  the  garden  what  was  there  but  a  Nunnery! 
And  the  clergyman  found  that  his  daughters  were  always 
slipping  out  into  the  garden,  and  what  was  it  but  the  nuns, 
that  were  getting  hold  of  the  girls!  Very  refined  women 
they  were,  and  well  able  to  deceive  young  girls!"  The  tale 
was  flowing  swiftly  now,  but  Mrs.  Cotton  paused  dramat- 
ically, and  continued  on  a  lower  key.  "The  clergyman  had 
had  bookshelves  made  to  fit  the  study,  and  a  splendid  antique 

sideboard  to  fitanitch "     Mrs.  Cotton  spoke  fast,  and 

the  last  three  words  ran  bewilderingly  into  one.  "But  he 
sold  the  house  AT  ONCE  !  Yes,  indeed,  Lady  Isabel !  Weren't 
his  daughters'  souls  more  to  him  than  bookshelves?" 

Lady  Isabel,  who  was  still  wrestling  with  the  apparently 
Russian  problem  in  connection  with  the  antique  sideboard, 
attempted  no  reply  to  this  inquiry,  and  Mrs.  Cotton,  con- 
sidering that  her  hostess'  mind  was  now  sufficiently  prepared, 
did  not  wait  for  her  opinion,  and  swept  on  to  her  objective, 
which  was  the  denunciation  of  the  conduct  of  the  recent 
concert,  and  more  especially  of  the  disposition  of  the  proceeds. 
"Of  course,  /  don't  know  in  whose  hands  it  lay,  Lady 


MOUNT  MUSIC  167 

Isabel,"  she  said,  raising  her  tea  cup  to  her  lips,  and  in  order 
to  do  so  curtaining  it  behind  her  ample  veil,  "but  the  Roman 
Catholics  seemed  to  consider  that  it  was  all  to  go  to  them, 
and  the  paltry  sum  I  have  mentioned  was  all  they  gave  Mr. 
Cotton  and  me  for  our  charities!"  Her  black  eyes  snapped 
menacingly  at  Lady  Isabel  over  the  rim  of  the  veiled  tea  cup. 

Lady  Isabel  uttered  a  soothing  and  indefinite  murmur, 
and  the  indictment  proceeded. 

"Considering  that  your  family,  Lady  Isabel,  took  a  leading 
part  in  the  programme,  and  that  I  may  say  the  greater  number 
of  the  half-crown  seats  were  Protestants,  I  do  think  that  our 
Church " 

It  avails  not  to  follow  Mrs.  Cotton's  diatribes  further. 
Lady  Isabel  had  lived  for  some  five  and  twenty  years  in 
Ireland,  but  they  had  not  sufficed  to  expound  to  her  the 
intricacies  of  the  web  of  jealousies,  hatreds,  fears,  and 
stupidities,  that  has  been  spun  by  that  intolerant  Spirit  of 
the  Nation,  in  order  to  separate,  as  far  as  may  be,  the  two 
Churches  who  divide  the  kindly  people  of  the  Island  of 
Saints  between  them.  Lady  Isabel  might  see  that  in  the 
distribution  of  the  spoils  Mrs.  Cotton  had  possibly  a  lawful 
grievance,  but  she  could  not,  even  after  five  and  twenty 
years,  quite  understand  how  solacing  to  the  soul  of  Mrs. 
Cotton  was  the  consideration  of  the  wrongs  endured  by  her 
Church. 

"Yes,  indeed,  Lady  Isabel!  Not  one  penny  more!  And 
then  Dr.  Mangan  to  say  to  Mr.  Cotton  when  I  sent  him  to 
complain  about  it,  that  it  was  better  than  a  poke  in  the  eye 
with  a  blunt  stick!  That  was  by  the  way  of  making  a  joke 
of  it!  And  that  the  Hunt  wanted  it  more  than  we  did!  I 
wonder  how  much  Father  Greer  left  the  Hunt!" 

Again  Mrs.  Cotton's  beady  eyes  snapped  several  times, 
in  an  emotion  that  wras  not  far  from  enjoyment.  The 
iniquities  of  Father  Greer  were  very  dear  to  her,  and  she 
was  confident  that  in  this  matter  of  dividing  the  spoil  he 
had  not  disappointed  her. 

Passing  on  from  the  concert,  Mrs.  Cotton  dealt  with  many 


1 68  MOUNT  MUSIC 

subjects  in  a  harangue  that  turned  the  seamy  side  of  Cluhii 
to  the  sun,  with  the  skill  of  a  buyer  of  old  clothes.  Lady 
Isabel,  behind  the  prisoning  tea-table,  after  a  hopeless,  help- 
less glance  round  an  assembly  that  was  either  preoccupied, 
or  wilfully  blind,  relapsed  into  the  brain  stupor  that  was 
sometimes  sent,  like  an  anodyne,  to  those  whom  fate  had  con- 
signed to  Mrs.  Cotton's  keeping.  The  Reverend  Matthew, 
in  whom  a  prolonged  course  of  his  wife  had  developed  a 
condition,  when  in  her  society,  of  semi-hypnotic  trance,  sat 
in  silence  at  his  hostess'  side,  devouring  cake,  and  swallowing 
cups  of  tea,  until  what  had  apparently  been  starvation  was 
averted;  he  then  dreamily  withdrew,  and  joined  himself, 
vaguely,  to  the  group  of  which  Miss  Coppinger  formed  one. 
Frederica's  early  training  had,  as  has  been  said,  implanted  in 
her  an  ineradicable  interest  in  the  Church.  Even  the  dulled, 
almost  obliterated  personality  of  Mr.  Cotton  still  held  for 
her  some  of  the  magic  of  his  cloth.  She  moved  her  chair  to 
admit  him  to  the  fellowship  of  which  she  was  one,  and 
offered  him  the  seat  that  had  been  hastily  vacated  by  Mrs. 
Kirby  on  his  approach,  with  a  darkling  eye  of  reproof  at 
that  experienced  lady. 

Conversation  with  Mr.  Cotton  resembled  conversation 
with  his  wife,  in  that  it  was  apt  to  be  one-sided,  life  having 
taught  him  to  take  the  side  not  patronised  by  Mrs.  Cotton. 
When,  however,  severed  from  her,  he  was  capable  of  im- 
parting rudimentary  fragments  of  fact,  and  one  of  these  he 
now  offered  to  Miss  Coppinger. 

"I  hear  your  nephew  is  the  candidate  chosen  by  the  Na- 
tionalists here  for  the  next  election,  Miss  Coppinger,"  he 
said,  his  pale  eyes  regarding  her  drearily  over  the  top  of 
his  spectacles. 

Frederica  sat  erect  in  her  chair  with  a  jerk,  and  a  hot  red 
sprang,  like  a  danger-signal,  to  her  face. 

"I've  heard  nothing  of  it,"  she  said  stoutly,  but  with  a 
leaping  heart  of  horror.  "How  do  you  know  it  is  the  case?" 

"It  is  commonly  reported  in  the  town,"  replied  Mr.  Cot- 
ton. "One  hears  these  things " 


MOUNT  MUSIC  169 

"I  can't  believe  it — I  can't  believe  it,"  said  Frederica; 
the  colour  had  left  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  hurried  from 
Mr.  Cotton's  face  to  Mrs.  St.  George's,  and  roved  on  to 
Mrs.  Kirby,  who  was  seated  near,  and  had  evidently  felt 
the  wind  of  the  shot. 

"Why,  the  boy  is  only  just  twenty-one !"  said  Mrs.  Kirby, 
rolling  herself  and  her  chair  back  into  action  to  the  support 
of  her  friend.  "With  all  deference  to  you,  Mr.  Cotton, 
I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it!  Of  course,  Larry  would  have 
told  you,  Frederica!  I  can  well  believe  that  those  Gaelic 
League  people  would  like  to  have  him  if  they  can  get  him! 
Depend  upon  it,  the  wish  is  father  to  the  thought!" 

Frederica  made  no  reply;  her  lips  were  tightly  compressed, 
and  her  unseeing  eyes,  though  they  appeared  to  be  fixed  on 
Mrs.  Kirby 's  broad  and  friendly  face,  were  looking  along 
the  paths  of  memory  to  the  time  when  that  barrier  of  ice 
had  not  arisen  between  her  and  Larry. 

"I  understand  that  the  suggestion  emanated  from  Dr. 
Mangan,"  went  on  Mr.  Cotton,  faintly  stimulated  by  his 
unaccustomed  success.  "I  am  not  aware  if  young  Mr.  Cop- 
pinger  has  made  any  reply." 

Mrs.  Kirby  put  her  plump  white  hand  on  Frederica's 
narrow  knee.  "I  shouldn't  distress  myself  if  I  were  you, 
my  dear,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "Quite  possibly  it's  all 
a  mistake "  She  turned  to  Mr.  Cotton,  who  was  re- 
lapsing into  trance;  his  eyes  had  followed  the  movement  of 
her  hand,  and  were  being  held,  hypnotically,  by  the  sparkle 
of  the  diamonds  in  her  rings.  "At  all  events,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Kirby,  "a  general  election  now  is  very  unlikely,  and  our 
valued  member — upon  my  word,  I  don't  even  remember  his 
name ! — isn't  likely  to  resign  in  Larry's  favour,  so  we  needn't 
discuss  it  now!  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Cotton,  that  you  will  agree 
with  me,  that  the  less  said  about  it  the  better;  most  prob- 
ably the  whole  thing  will  die  out  and  come  to  nothing!" 
She  glanced  at  Mrs.  St.  George,  and  perceiving  that  the 
news  had  shattered  her  in  only  less  degree  than  Frederica, 
she  continued  to  address  Mr.  Cotton.  "Such  weather!  Isn't 


i;o  MOUNT  MUSIC 

it?  How  does  your  garden  like  all  this  rain,  Mr.  Cotton? 

Our  strawberries  won't  ripen,  and  as  for  the  poor  hay ! 

You  really  ought  to  have  prayers  for  fine  weather  for  us 
next  Sunday!" 

Mr.  Cotton  recalled  his  eyes  from  the  diamonds  with  an 
effort.  "I  will,  if  you  like,  Mrs.  Kirby!"  he  said,  looking  at 
her,  like  an  old  horse,  down  his  long,  deplorable  nose,  "but 
I  fear  they  will  be  not  of  much  use,  as  the  glawss  is  re- 
morkably  low!" 

Prayers  for  the  modification  of  the  weather  are  often 
treated  as  a  permissible  subject  for  mirth,  and  Mrs.  Kirby 
availed  herself  of  the  convention;  even  Frederica  and  Mrs. 
St.  George,  stricken  though  they  were,  smiled  wanly. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AT  about  this  time,  that  imposing  spectacle,  once  described 
by  Mrs.  Twomey  as  "The  Big  Doctor  and  little  Danny 
Aherne  walking  the  streets  of  Cluhir  like  two  paycocks," 
was  vouchsafed  to  the  town  rather  more  frequently  than  was 
usually  the  case.  Dr.  Aherne  had  sent  a  patient,  who  was 
no  less  a  person  than  the  priest  of  the  parish  of  Pribawn, 
to  the  private  ward  of  the  Infirmary  in  Cluhir,  where  he 
would,  among  other  advantages,  receive  daily  visits  from  Dr. 
Mangan.  Father  Sweeny  was  suffering  from  a  broken  leg, 
and  othef  damages;  a  midnight  drive  to  a  dying  parishioner 
had  ended,  disastrously,  in  an  unguarded  road-side  ditch,  and 
Dr.  Aherne  had  thought  it  best  to  consign  a  patient  of  such 
importance  to  the  care  of  hands  less  occupied,  as  well  as  of 
higher  renown,  than  his  own. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  Big  Doctor  and  his  kinsman  saw 
more  of  each  other  than  is  often  possible  for  men  whose  work 
is  as  widespread  and  incessant  as  is  that  of  Irish  Dispensary 
Doctors.  On  this  windy  June  morning  they  had  met  in 
the  dreary  yard  of  the  Workhouse,  to  which  the  Infirmary 
was  attached,  and  together  they  paced  the  long,  whitewashed, 
slate-paven  passages  that  led  to  the  Infirmary,  pausing  at 
intervals  to  talk  of  matters  quite  unconnected  with  their 
patients,  but,  if  the  frequency  of  the  pauses,  filled  by  the 
sibilant  whispers  of  the  little  doctor,  and  the  deep  growls 
of  the  big  one,  was  any  criterion,  none  the  less  absorbing. 

"His  name's  been  accepted,"  ended  the  Big  Doctor,  after 
the  lengthiest  of  these,  "and  it  would  be  no  harm  for  you 
to  be  slipping  in  a  word,  now  and  again,  with  the  people 
through  the  country,  according  as  you'd  get  the  chance, 
Danny." 

171 


172  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"I  will,  I  will,"  replied  the  little  doctor,  as  he  opened 
the  door  of  Father  Sweeny's  room. 

"You're  doing  very  well,  Father,"  said  Dr.  Mangan,  his 
inspection  of  the  patient  ended.  "I  consider  you  couldn't 
be  progressing  more  satisfactorily."  He  seated  himself  by 
Father  Tim  Sweeny's  bedside,  while  the  Nursing  Sister-in- 
Charge  rolled  up  bandages,  and  conferred  in  lowered  tones 
with  Dr.  Aherne,  on  the  subject  of  what  he  called  the 
patient's  "dite." 

"You'll  be  going  as  strong  as  ever  you  did  in  a  few  weeks' 
time,"  continued  Dr.  Mangan,  encouragingly. 

Father  Sweeny  returned  the  Doctor's  look  morosely. 

"I'm  sick  and  tired  of  being  here  as  it  is,"  he  said, 
gloomily,  "and  you  talk  to  me  of  weeks!" 

"Ah,  they'll  pass,  never  fear  they'll  pass!"  said  the  Big 
Doctor,  cheerfully.  "I  never  saw  the  weeks  yet  that  didn't 
pass  if  you  waited  long  enough!  And  I  wouldn't  say  but 
that  you  mightn't  go  home  before  you're  out  of  our  hands 
entirely." 

Father  Sweeny  received  these  consolations  with  an  unpro- 
pitiated  grunt.  His  large  face,  with  its  broad  cheeks  and 
heavy  double-chins,  that  was  usually  of  a  sanguine  and  all 
pervasive  beefy-red,  now  hung  in  pallid  purple  folds,  on 
which  dark  bristles,  that  wrere  as  stiff  as  those  on  the  barrel 
of  a  musical  box,  told  that  the  luxury  of  shaving  had  hitherto 
been  withheld.  There  are  some  professions  that  tend  more 
than  others  to  grade  the  men  that  follow  them  into  distinct 
types.  The  Sea  is  one  of  these,  the  Church,  and  pre-emi- 
nently the  Church  of  Rome,  is  another.  The  ecclesiastical 
types  vary  no  less  than  the  nautical  ones,  and  neither  need 
here  be  enumerated.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  Father 
Sweeny,  when  in  his  usual  robust  health,  in  voice,  in  appear- 
ance, and  in  manner,  provoked,  uncontrollably,  a  comparison 
with  a  heavy  and  truculent  black  bull. 

'  'Tis  highly  inconvenient  to  me  to  be  boxed  up  in  bed 
this  way,  at  this  time,"  said  Father  Sweeny,  with  a  small  hot 
eye  upon  his  attendant  nun  that  would  have  said  instantly 


MOUNT  MUSIC  173 

to  any  one  less  entirely  kind,  religious,  and  painstaking, 
that  he  had  no  immediate  need  of  her  services;  "Sister  Maria 
Joseph,  I  wonder  would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  bring  me  the 
paper?  I  didn't  see  it  to-day  at  all." 

Sister  Maria  Joseph  turned  her  amiable,  unruffled  face, 
with  that  pure  complexion  that  would  seem  to  be  one  of  the 
compensations  for  the  renunciation  of  the  world,  towards 
her  patient,  and  said,  obsequiously: 

"I  beg  your  pordon,  Fawther?" 

The  little  eyes  had  a  hotter  sparkle  as  Father  Sweeny 
repeated  his  request. 

"It's  a  wronder  to  me,"  he  growled  to  Dr.  Mangan,  after 
Sister  Maria  Joseph  had  left  the  room,  having  taken,  in  her 
anxiety  to  show  respect,  quite  half  a  minute  in  closing  the 
door  with  suitable  noiselessness,  "why  people  can't  attend 
to  what's  said  to  them!  If  there's  a  thing  I  hate,  it's  being 

bothered  repeating  an  entirely  trivial  matter,  which " 

— here  Father  Tim's  voice  began  to  take  on  the  angry,  high 
tenor  of  one  of  his  prototypes — "she  had  a  right  to  have 
heard  at  the  first  offer!  I  declare  I'm  beside  meself  some- 
times with  the  annoyance  I  get!" 

Dr.  Mangan  laid  his  spatulate  fingers  upon  the  sufferer's 
hairy  wrist. 

"We'll  have  to  give  his  Reverence  a  sedative,  Danny," 
he  said,  winking  at  his  colleague.  "I'd  be  sorry  to  see  you 
that  way,  Father;  the  bed's  narrow  enough  for  you  as  it  is, 
without  having  you  beside  yourself  in  it!" 

Father  Sweeny's  mood  was  one  to  which  chaff  did  not 
commend  itself.  He  snatched  his  hand  from  beneath  the 
Doctor's  fingers,  and  picked  up  some  letters  that  lay  beside 
him. 

"Look  at  this,  I  ask  you!  From  Mary  Murphy,  saying 
her  husband  is  quite  well,  and  that  he  took  the  turn  for 
good  from  the  minute  he  was  anointed !  And  me  lying  here 
crippled!" 

"'The  dog  it  was  that  died!'"  quoted  Dr.  Mangan, 
smoothly. 


174  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"What  dog?"  demanded  Father  Sweeny,  with  indignation, 
"I  d'no  what  you're  talking  about!" 

"Ah,  nothing,  nothing,"  said  the  Big  Doctor,  with  a  lift 
of  the  spirit  at  the  thought  of  his  superior  culture,  "but 
surely  it  wasn't  to  show  me  Mary  Murphy's  letter  that  you 
sent  poor  Sister  Maria  Joseph  on  a  fool's  errand?" 

"Why  a  fool's  errand?"  demanded  the  now  incensed 
Father  Sweeny.  "What  d'ye  mean?" 

"Look  at  the  newspaper  on  the  floor  here,"  returned  the 
Doctor.  "You'll  have  her  back  in  a  minute,  begging  your 
pardon  again,  to  tell  you  so." 

Father  Sweeny  glared,  speechless,  at  his  tormentor  for  an 
instant;  then,  finding  the  Big  Doctor  unmoved  "in  the 
furnace  of  his  look,"  he  fell  back  on  his  pillows. 

"Lock  the  door!"  he  commanded  angrily.  He  pushed  a 
letter  into  the  Doctor's  hand.  "Read  that!" 

"Hullo!  The  Major!  What's  he  got  to  say  to  you, 
Father  Tim?" 

"Read  it,  I  tell  you!" 

Dr.  Mangan  did  so,  with  attention,  and  read  it  a  second 
time  before  he  replaced  it  in  its  envelope  and  handed  it  back 
to  the  priest. 

"That's  a  nice  letter!"  said  Father  Sweeny,  with  a  snort 
that  he  believed  to  be  a  laugh.  "What  d'ye  think  of  that 
now,  you  that  are  so  fond  of  Protestants !" 

"I  think  the  man  is  justified,"  said  the  Doctor,  stoutly. 
"There's  no  such  great  hurry,  and  anyhow,  his  authority  is 
at  an  end.  He  couldn't  give  you  as  much  as'd  sod  a  lark 
now " 

"Nor  he  wouldn't  if  he  could!"  broke  in  Father  Sweeny. 
"And  there  is  hurry,  and  great  hurry!  How  will  I  build 
my  chapel  without  the  land  to  put  it  on?  Will  you  tell 
me  that?" 

"Ah,  you  haven't  the  money  gathered  yet.  The  delay 
isn't  worth  exciting  yourself  about!"  said  the  Doctor,  sooth- 
ingly. Father  Tim  amused  him,  and  he  liked  him,  being 
well  aware  that  if  his  temper  was  hot,  his  heart  was  cor- 


MOUNT  MUSIC  175 

respondingly  warm.  "You'll  see  the  young  chap  will  give 
you  the  site  as  soon  as  look  at  you." 

"And  how  do  I  know  the  young  chap  will  be  any  easier 
than  the  old  one?  Isn't  he  there  at  Mount  Music  all  day 
and  every  day,  at  their  tea-parties  and  their  dinner-parties? 
Won't  they  have  him  married  up  to  one  of  the  daughters 
before  you  can  look  around  ?  He  may  call  himself  a  Catholic, 
but  them  English  Catholics — COME  IN!" 

Sister  Maria  Joseph's  faint  tap  at  the  door  had  as  instant 
an  effect  as  a  squib,  planted  in  the  mane  of  the  monarch  of 
the  bull-ring,  might  produce. 

"I  cannt — the  door's  locked,  Fawther!"  came  Sister  Maria 
Joseph's  gentle  voice,  in  mild  protest.  "I  couldn't  find 
the " 

"Never  mind  it!  I  have  it  myself — I  have  it,  I  tell  you!" 
shouted  Father  Tim;  in  his  voice  the  appeal  to  a  merciful 
Heaven  to  grant  patience  was  unmistakable. 

Sister  Maria  Joseph,  recognising  with  trembling  her  super- 
fluousness,  withdrew. 

"It's  Barty  will  have  that  job  we  were  speaking  of  just 
now,  before  you  were  coaxing  Sister  Maria  Joseph  to  go 
away  from  you,"  resumed  Dr.  Mangan.  "Maybe  you  didn't 
hear  he's  got  the  Coppinger's  Court  Agency?  Young  Cop- 
pinger  offered  it  to  him  yesterday." 

"It's  a  good  thing  it's  out  of  Talbot-Lowry's  hands  any- 
how," growled  Father  Sweeny. 

"Larry's  up  at  my  house  every  day  now,  about  a  concert 
they're  to  have,"  went  on  the  Doctor,  tranquilly.  "Tishy's 
helping  him.  He's  very  fond  of  music.  I  think  you're 
mistaken  in  thinking  he'll  be  married  to  one  of  the  Major's 
daughters  in  such  a  hurry!" 

"The  first  thing  he'll  want  to  do  is  to  tidy  up  his  property 
and  pacify  the  tenants,"  said  Dr.  Aherne,  in  his  small,  piping 
voice.  "They're  not  too  pleased  with  the  way  they  are  now. 
The  Major  was  rather  short  with  some  of  them,  now  and 
again.  There  was  Herlihy,  and  two  of  the  Briens,  was 
talking  to  me  and  saying  what  would  they  do  at  all  with 


i;6  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Father  Tim  here,  away.  They  were  thinking  would  Father 
Hogan " 

"Br-r-r-r-r-h!" 

As  a  bull  shakes  his  head,  with  a  reverberating  roar  at 
the  foes  he  cannot  reach,  so  did  Father  Tim  Sweeny,  crippled 
and  furious,  roll  his  big  head,  growling,  on  his  pillows. 
His  dark  hair  lay  in  tight  rings  on  his  broad  and  bulging 
forehead,  and  curled  in  strength  over  his  head  back  to  the 
tonsure.  His  eyes  were  congested  with  the  unavailing  rage 
that  possessed  him,  as  he  thought  of  his  parish  left  leaderless. 

Had  the  "Ballad  of  the  Bull"  then  been  written,  and  had 
Dr.  Mangan  been  acquainted  with  it  (which  seems  unlikely) 
he  might  have  again  proved  his  culture  by  remembering 
the  injunction  to  pity  "this  fallen  chief,"  as  he  saw  the 
impotent  wrath  in  Father  Tim's  bovine  countenance. 

"Don't  worry  yourself  now,  Father,"  he  said,  consolingly, 
"I'll  undertake  to  say  it  will  be  all  right  about  the  site  for 
the  chapel,  and  what's  more,  I'll  undertake  to  say  there'll 
be  nothing  done  about  it,  or  the  tenants,  or  anything  else, 
till  you're  well.  The  people  will  do  nothing  without  you!" 

He  looked  at  his  huge,  old-fashioned  gold  watch. 

"Oh,  b'  Jove,  I  must  be  off!  Tell  me,  did  you  hear  they 
have  Larry  Coppinger  chosen  to  be  the  candidate,  when 
Prendergast  retires,  as  he  says  he  will,  before  the  next  elec- 
tion? There  won't  be  much  talk  of  tea-parties  for  Larry 
at  Mount  Music  then!  Any  tea-party  there  that  he'd  go 
to  once  he  was  a  Nationalist  M.P.,  I  think  he'd  be  apt  to 
get  'his  tay  in  a  mug !'  " 

The  Doctor  got  up  and  moved  towards  the  door. 

"I'll  support  him,  so!"  Father  Sweeny  called  after  him. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THERE  are  families,  as  there  are  nations,  that  are  like  those 
ships  that,  launched  under  a  lucky  star,  sail  their  appointed 
courses  ever  serenely  and  eventlessly,  and  though  they  may 
indeed  look  on  tempests,  yet  are  never  shaken  by  them. 
But  of  such  was  not,  it  must  regretfully  be  said,  the  family 
of  Talbot-Lowry.  It  can  only  be  supposed  that  the  gods 
had  preordained  its  destruction,  for  on  no  other  assumption 
can  the  dementia  of  its  chief  representative  be  comprehended. 
It  would  be  out  of  place,  even,  if  not  impertinent,  absurd, 
to  discuss  here  the  Act  of  Parliament  that  in  the  year  nine- 
teen hundred  and  three,  made  provision  to  change  the 
ownership  of  Irish  land,  and  to  transfer  its  possession  from 
the  landlords  to  the  tenants.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
those  of  both  classes  who  were  endowed  with  the  valuable 
quality  of  knowing  on  which  side  of  a  piece  of  bread  the 
butter  had  been  applied,  lost  as  little  time  as  was  possible 
in  availing  themselves  of  the  facilities  that  the  Act  offered 
them.  The  ceremony  of  Hari  Kiri,  even  if  entered  upon 
with  the  belief  that  it  will  lead  to  another  and  a  better 
world,  is  not  an  agreeable  one,  but  it  was  obvious  to  most 
Irish  landlords  that,  with  bad  or  good  grace,  sooner  or 
later,  that  grim  rite  had  to  be  faced,  and  that  the  hindmost 
in  the  transaction  need  expect  only  the  fate  proverbially 
promised  to  such.  It  is,  possibly,  superfluous  to  say  that 
of  the  company  of  the  hindmost  was  our  poor  friend,  well- 
meaning  and  stupid  Dick  Talbot-Lowry,  and  also  that  his 
fate,  as  such,  was  sedulously  pointed  out  to  him  by  those 
friends  of  his  own  class,  who,  like  the  fabled  fox,  having 
lost  their  brushes,  were  eager  in  explanation  of  the  su- 
periority of  their  position. 

177 


1 78  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"I  don't  own  a  stick  outside  my  own  demesne  wall!" 
says  Colonel  St.  George.  "Of  all  the  hundreds  of  acres  of 
mountain  that  my  father  had,  there  isn't  as  much  as  one 
patch  of  bog  left  that  I  could  cut  a  sod  of  turf  in!" 

This  whisk  of  a  vanished  brush  was  a  gesture  well  cal- 
culated to  enrage  Major  Dick.  It  was  senseless  of  St. 
George  to  boast  of  his  limitations,  and  yet  no  one  better 
than  Dick  knew  what  must  be  the  feeling  of  emancipation 
that  prompted  the  boast. 

Autocracy  dies  hard,  and  it  is  probable  that  long  after 
Leagues  of  Nations  have  decreed  the  abolition  of  all  Rulers, 
the  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table  will  still,  in  the  most 
inveterate  Republics,  issue,  unquestioned,  his  unalterable 
edicts,  with  his  coat-tails  monopolising  the  dining-room  fire, 
and  the  family  income  concentrated  in  his  cheque  book. 
Dick  Talbot-Lowry's  pigheadedness  was  at  the  root  of  the 
downsliding  of  Mount  Music.  Having  faced,  undaunted, 
deputations  of  his  tenants;  deputations  of  public  bodies; 
("Damned  interfering  blackguards,  who  ought  to  be  taught 
to  mind  their  own  business!"),  having  made  light  of  advice 
from  his  friends,  and  of  anonymous  threatening  letters  from, 
presumably,  his  enemies,  he  still  held  fast,  and  refused  to  sell 
the  property  that  had  come  to  him  from  the  men  whose 
portraits  had  looked  down  on  him  from  the  old  walls  of 
Mount  Music,  all  the  days  of  his  life.  It  was,  perhaps, 
the  solitary  strand  of  romance  in  his  nature,  the  feudal  feel- 
ing that  the  Mount  Music  tenants  were  his,  as  they  had 
been  his  ancestors',  to  have  and  to  hold,  to  rule,  to  arbitrate 
for,  and  to  stand  by,  as  a  fond  and  despotic  husband  rules 
and  stands  by  an  obedient  wife,  loving  her  and  bullying  her 
(but  both  entirely  for  her  good).  He  had,  moreover,  the 
desire  to  disparage  and  to  disprove  new  ideas,  that  is  a  sign 
of  a  mind  incapable  of  originality,  and  anxious  to  assert 
itself  negatively,  since  it  must  otherwise  remain  silent. 

"But  Dick,"  his  friends  would  say,  "there  isn't  a  property 
this  side  of  the  county  that  isn't  sold,  except  your  own!" 

"What's  that  to  me?"  says  Dick,  as  stubborn  and  stupid 


MOUNT  MUSIC  179 

a  King  Canute  as  ever  sat  with  the  tide  nearing  the  tops 
of  his  hunting-boots;  "I  don't  care  a  damn  what  anybody 
else  does!  And  what's  more,"  he  would  add,  gloomily,  "I 
can't  afford  to  sell  at  seventeen  years'  purchase.  Anyhow, 
what's  mine's  my  own!  I'll  be  shot  if  I'll  be  bullied!" 

"I  wouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  if  you  were!"  the  friends 
would  reply  darkly. 

To  sell  at  seventeen  years'  purchase,  was  what  Mr.  St. 
Lawrence  Coppinger  had  done,  following  the  advice  of  his 
agent  and  solicitor,  Mr.  Bartholomew  Mangan,  and  his 
cousin,  and  late  guardian,  Major  Talbot-Lowry,  had  found 
it  hard  to  forgive  him.  The  business  had  been  arranged 
while  Larry  was  in  Paris,  and  the  expostulations  that  might 
have  prevailed  if  delivered  viva  voce,  failed  of  their  effect 
when  presented  on  foreign  paper,  in  Cousin  Dick's  illegible 
scrawl.  It  was  all  very  fine  for  Larry,  ran  the  illegible 
scrawl,  to  talk  of  selling  at  such  a  price,  but  he  ought  to 
see  what  a  hole  his  doing  so  put  his  neighbours  in!  Larry 
hadn't  a  squad  of  incumbrances,  and  charges,  and  mortgages, 
hung  round  his  neck  like  leeches  (and  no  fault  of  the 
Major's).  He  had  had  to  find  money  in  a  hurry  to  pay 
off  one  of  these  cursed  things  only  the  other  day,  and  if  he 
hadn't  had  the  luck  to  mention  it  to  a  friend,  who  was  kind 
enough  to  come  to  the  rescue  (of  course  on  good  security) 
the  Major  would  have  been  in  a  hat,  or  a  hole,  Larry 
couldn't  quite  read  which. 

These  grievances,  and  much  more,  illegibly  scrawled  on 
foreign  paper,  with  a  quill  pen.  Larry,  swallowed  up  in 
the  absorbing,  isolating  life  of  a  Paris  studio,  would  put  the 
letters  half-read,  in  his  pocket,  and  would  immediately  for- 
get all  about  them.  After  all,  he  couldn't  interfere  with 
Barty;  he  was  the  man  at  the  helm,  and  mustn't  be  talked 
to.  Also  it  was  idiotic  to  keep  a  dog  and  bark  yourself. 
Proverbial  philosophy  is  a  recognised  sedative;  Larry  gave 
himself  a  dose  or  two,  and  straightway  forgot  Cousin  Dick, 
forgot  Ireland,  forgot  even  that  gratifying  nomination  of 
himself  as  Nationalist  candidate  for  the  Division,  and 


i8o  MOUNT  MUSIC 

plunged  back  into  the  burning  atmosphere  of  art,  wherein 
models  and  professors,  cliques  and  cabals,  glow,  and  seethe, 
and  exist  intensely,  and  with  as  little  reference  to  the  affairs 
of  the  outside  world,  as  if  they  were  the  sole  occupants  of 
a  distant  and  much  over-heated  star. 

There  are  many  people  who  have  been  endowed  with  one 
master-passion,  that  "like  Aaron's  serpent  swallows  up  the 
rest,"  but  Larry's  ingenuous  breast  harboured  a  nest  of 
such  serpents.  During  his  three  years  at  Oxford,  he  had 
stormed  from  one  enthusiasm  to  another;  he  had  rowed, 
and  boxed,  and  spouted  politics,  and,  beginning  with  music, 
had  stormed  on  through  poetry  and  the  drama,  to  painting. 

Having  taken  a  moderate  degree,  he  had  rushed  in  pursuit 
of  this  latest  charmer  to  Paris,  and  the  waters  of  the 
Quartier  Latin  then  closed  over  him.  Occasionally  a  bubble 
would  rise  from  those  clouded  deeps,  and  a  letter  to  Aunt 
Freddy,  or  to  Barty  Mangan,  would  briefly  announce  his 
continued  existence.  Sometimes  he  wrote  to  Christian,  and 
would  expand  a  little  more  to  her;  telling  her  of  how  one 
Professor  had  remarked  of  his  work  that  it  was  now  presque 
pas  mal,  and  that  this  dizzying  encomium  had  encouraged 
him  to  begin  a  Salon  (its  subject  described  at  length,  with 
elucidatory  sketches)  ;  further,  that  he  had  taken  a  very  jolly 
atelier,  and  "dear  old  Chose"  was  "on  the  Jury,"  and  would 
try  and  get  him  accepted,  with  much  more  to  the  same  effect, 
music,  politics,  horses  and  hounds,  forgotten  as  though  they 
had  never  been. 

Christian  received  these  effusions  with  a  characteristic 
mixture  of  respect  for  the  artistic  effort  that  they  described, 
and  of  amused,  almost  pitying  comprehension  of  the  enthu- 
siasm that  they  revealed.  It  was  three  years  since  Larry 
had  left  Oxford  and  gone  to  France,  and  during  those  years 
Christian  had  learned  more  of  life  than  Larry  had  acquired, 
or  would  ever  acquire,  in  spite  of  the  three  years'  start  of 
her  with  which  he  had  begun  the  world. 

Judith  had  been  induced  to  close  her  brilliant  career  as  a 
buccaneer,  by  a  perfectly,  even — from  the  buccaneering 


MOUNT  MUSIC  181 

point  of  view — depressingly  satisfactory  marriage  with  Mr. 
William  Kirby,  and  her  departure  had  forced  her  younger 
sister  into  the  front  rank  of  domestic  combatants.  At  Mount 
Music,  where  once  the  milk  and  honey  had  flowed  with 
effortless  abundance,  each  year  brought  increasing  stress. 
The  rents  grew  less,  the  expenses  greater,  that  large  and 
omnivorous  item,  knowq  as  "keeping  up  the  place,"  was  as 
exacting  as  ever,  the  minor  problems  of  household  existence 
more  acute.  There  had  been  a  time  when  the  Mount  Music 
tenants  had  vied  with  one  another  in  the  provision  of  sons 
and  daughters  for  service  in  the  Big  House,  when  bonfires 
had  blazed  for  the  return  of  "the  young  gentlemen,"  and 
offerings  of  eggs  had  greeted  "the  young  ladies."  Now  the 
propitiatory  turkey  that  heralded  a  request,  the  goose  that 
signalised  a  success,  gained  with  the  help  of  the  hereditary 
helpers,  had  all  ceased.  Alien  influences  had  poisoned  the 
wells  of  friendship.  Such  rents  as  were  paid  were  extracted 
by  the  hard  hand  of  the  law,  and  the  tenants  held  indigna- 
tion meetings  against  the  landlord  who  refused  to  resign  to 
them  what  they  believed  to  be  theirs,  and  he  was  equally 
convinced  was  his.  Major  Dick  still  shot  and  fished,  as 
was  his  right,  over  the  lands  and  waters  that  were  still  in 
his  name,  but  the  tenants,  whose  fathers  had  loved  him,  had 
renounced  the  old  allegiance.  The  partridges  were  run 
down  by  the  greyhounds  that  had  killed  off  the  hares;  the 
salmon  were  poached;  worst  of  all,  Derrylugga  Gorse,  the 
covert  that  Dick  had  planted  twenty-five  years  ago,  on 
Carmody's  farm,  in  the  middle  of  the  best  of  the  Broadwater 
Vale  country,  was  burned  down,  and  a  vixen  and  her  cubs 
had  perished  with  it. 

Dick  gave  up  the  hounds  at  the  end  of  the  season. 

"I've  done  my  best  to  show  sport  for  five  and  twenty 
years,"  he  said,  "and  I'm  not  going  to  spoil  it  now!" 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  that  for  Dick's  wife  this  sacrifice 
had  its  consolatory  aspects.  It  was  a  long  time  now  since 
there  had  been  quite  enough  money  for  anything  at  Mount 
Music.  Those  far-sighted  guardian  angels  who  had  compelled 


182  MOUNT  MUSIC 

the  investment  of  Lady  Isabel's  dowry  in  gilt-edged  securities, 
had  placed  the  care  of  these  in  the  hands  of  hide-bound 
English  trustees  (the  definition  is  Major  Dick's)  and  the 
amiable  reader  need  therefore  have  no  anxieties  that  starva- 
tion threatened  this  well-meaning  family,  but,  as  Lady  Isabel 
frequently  said,  "what  with  the  Boys,  and  Judith's  trousseau, 
and  the  Wedding,  and  One-Thing-and- Another"  (which  last 
is  always  a  big  item  in  the  domestic  budget)  the  more  com- 
mon needs  of  every  day  had  to  submit  to  very  drastic  con- 
densation," and  it  was  indisputable  that  the  Talbot-Lowry 
family-coach  was  running  on  the  down-grade. 

The  law  of  averages  is  a  stringent  one,  and  it  may  be 
assumed  with  reasonable  certainty,  that  when  one  ancient 
and  respectable  family-coach  runs  down  hill,  another  vehicle, 
probably  of  more  modern  equipment,  will  go  up.  In  the  case 
under  consideration,  the  operations  of  this  principle  were 
less  obscure  than  is  sometimes  the  way  with  them.  As  Mount 
Music  descended,  so  did  No.  6,  The  Mall,  Cluhir,  rise, 
and  Dr.  Mangan's  growing  prosperity  compensated  Fate  for 
the  decline  in  Major  Talbot-Lowry's  affairs,  with  a  pre- 
cision that,  to  a  person  interested  in  the  statistics  of  averages, 
might  have  seemed  beautiful.  The  Big  Doctor  was  now 
the  leading  man  in  Cluhir,  leader  in  its  councils  and  its 
politics.  On  his  professional  side,  his  advice  and  ministra- 
tions were  in  demand  even  beyond  the  range  of  his  motor 
car,  and  the  measure  of  his  greatness  may  be  best  estimated 
when  it  is  mentioned  that  his  motor  had  been  the  first  to 
startle  the  streets  of  his  native  town. 

Major  Talbot-Lowry  was  of  the  Old  Guard,  who,  in 
those  now  far  away  times,  swore  never  to  surrender  to  what 
he  held  to  be  so  thoroughly  unsportsmanlike  an  innovation 
as  a  motor  car,  and  the  Doctor  was  accustomed  to  offer 
facetious  apologies  when  he  and  his  car  drew  up  at  the 
Mount  Music  hall  door.  This  had  become  a  fairly  frequent 
occurrence.  Dick  was  not  the  man  he  had  been.  When  his 
hounds  went,  old  age  came,  and  it  came  like  an  illness,  be- 
wilderingly,  unexpectedly.  Dick's  long,  straight  legs  began 


MOUNT  MUSIC  183 

to  give  at  the  knees,  and  his  square  shoulders  learned  the 
hollow  curve  of  the  back  of  his  armchair,  and  submitted 
to  it.  His  long  sight,  that  had  outlived  the  infliction  of 
spectacles  for  reading,  was  failing  him;  he  had  twice  tally- 
ho'd  away  a  yellow  cur-dog,  at  less  than  a  field's  distance. 

"No,  Mangan,  I'll  be  damned  if  I  go  out  to  make  a  fool 
of  myself  and  the  hounds!"  he  said,  when  reproached  by 
the  Doctor  for  staying  at  home.  "The  sooner  I'm  put  down 
like  an  old  hound,  the  better!" 

Dr.  Mangan  had  been  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  had 
assured  Dick  that  Bill  Kirby  was  "lost  altogether"  for  want 
of  his  counsels,  and  that  the  whole  field  were  saying  the 
Major  was  the  only  man  to  show  sport,  and  that  he  knew 
the  way  a  fox'd  run,  as  well  as  if  he  was  inside  him! 

"In  company  with  another  old  gander,  I  suppose!"  says 
poor  Dick,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  being  both  moved  and 
cheered  by  his  own  jest. 

The  Doctor's  presence  was  partly  a  reassurance  and  partly 
a  menace,  to  Major  Dick.  There  had  been,  from  time  to 
time,  further  opportunities  for  the  investment  of  the  Doctor's 
"spare  ha'pence"  in  "something  solid  and  safe,  like  land." 
Aunt  Bessie  Cantwell's  money,  for  instance,  had,  on  her 
demise,  all  come  Dr.  Mangan's  way.  There  was  no  need 
for  the  Major  to  think  there  was  any  obligation,  he  might 
call  it  a  mutual  advantage,  if  he  liked,  anyhow,  why 
shouldn't  the  money  go  where  it  was  wanted?  The  security 
was  all  right. 

"Oh  yes,"  says  Dick,  "that's  right  enough,  and  whenever 
I  can  come  to  terms  with  the  tenants " 

"No  hurry!"  the  Big  Doctor  would  answer;  "five  per 
cent,  is  good  enough  for  me!" 

The  Doctor,  alone  of  all  Dick's  friends,  sympathised  with 
Major  Talbot-Lowry  in  the  matter  of  the  tenants,  and  he 
condemned  the  conduct  of  his  own  son,  Barty,  as  heartily 
as  did  Dick  that  of  his  nephew,  in  their  dealings  with  the 
Coppinger  estate. 

"  'Tis  impossible  to  hold  these  young  fellows,"  he  said, 


184  MOUNT  MUSIC 

severely,  while  he  and  Dick  strolled  slowly  round  the  weedy 
flower  garden  of  Mount  Music,  one  sunny  August  afternoon, 
four  years  after  Larry's  coming  of  age;  "You  may  be  sure 
that  I  pointed  out  to  Barty  that  he  and  Larry  were  playing 
the  deuce  with  you  over  the  sale,  but  what  could  I  do? 
After  all,  Barty  had  to  obey  the  orders  he  got  from  his 
boss!" 

"I  know,  I  know,"  responded  Dick.  "My  dear  fellow, 
I  don't  blame  you,  my  own  cousin's  a  different  pair  of  shoes! 
Richard  may  fight  it  out  with  the  tenants  when  I'm  gone. 
He'll  have  to  marry  money.  Why,  my  God!  If  I  sold  at 
these  fellows'  price,  the  property  would  hardly  clear  itself! 
At  least,"  Dick  cleared  his  throat  and  picked  himself  up 
with  a  guilty  jerk,  as  does  a  horse  who  stumbles  from  care- 
lessness, "at  least,  it  would  cover  the  charges,  and — and  the 
mortgages  of  course — but  not  much  more " 

Dr.  Mangan  looked  straight  in  front  of  him,  as  became  a 
mortgagee  of  delicate  feeling,  and  said  with  some  elaborate- 
ness, "No  man  need  be  anxious  about  money  whose  security 
is  Irish  land,  nowadays.  'Tis  daily  appressiating  in  value." 

"To  every  man  except  the  owner!" 

Dick  struck  hard  with  his  ash-plant  at  a  tall  weed  as  he 
spoke,  and  decapitated  it  with  the  grace  and  dexterity  of  the 
old  cavalryman.  He  put  force  enough  into  the  cut  to  have 
felled  a  tougher  foe. 

"This  place  is  turned  into  a  wilderness "  he  went  on 

and  then,  staggering,  caught  at  the  Doctor's  thick  arm. 

In  an  instant  the  Big  Doctor  had  his  other  arm  round 
Dick's  shoulders,  and  held  him  firm. 

"Stand  still,  Major,  it's  nothing!  You'll  be  all  right  in 
a  minute!"  he  said,  meeting  Dick's  frightened  eyes  with 
reassuring  steadiness.  "The  sun's  very  hot.  It's  only  a 
touch  of  giddiness " 

He  stood,  a  great  rock  of  support,  uttering  leisurely  words 
of  consolation,  while  he  quietly  slipped  one  hand  down  the 
Major's  arm,  until  his  broad,  perceptive  finger-tips  could 
feel  the  faint  pulse  jerking  under  their  pressure. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  185 

Dick's  colour  crept  back,  and  the  veins,  that  had  shown 
blue  on  the  sudden  yellow  of  his  cheek,  began  to  lose  their 
vividness. 

"That's  more  like  it!"  said  the  Doctor,  tranquilly.  "Do 
you  sit  quite  here  for  a  minute,  now,  and  I'll  go  get  you  a 
drop  of  something  from  our  friend,  Mr.  Evans,  that'll  do 
you  no  harm!" 

He  established  his  patient  on  a  garden  seat,  and  left  him, 
moving  slowly  until  he  knew  he  was  no  longer  in  sight; 
then  he  swung  into  the  house,  with  swift  strides  that  would 
have  compelled  a  smaller  man  to  run,  if  he  were  to  keep 
level  with  him. 

"Poor  old  lad!"  he  thought,  compassionately;  yet,  blended 
with  the  compassion,  was  the  half-unconscious  triumph  of 
strong  middle-age  at  sight  of  the  failure  of  a  senior.  "That's 
the  first  knock.  He'll  want  to  mind  himself  from  this  out 
— the  next  one  might  hit  him  harder'* 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  back  stairs  at  Mount  Music  were  old  and  precipitous. 
To  descend  them  at  high  noon  demanded  circumspection; 
at  night,  when  the  armies  of  the  cockroaches  were  abroad, 
and  marauding  rats  came  flopping  up  and  down  them,  upon 
their  unlawful  occasions,  only  that  man  of  iron,  Robert 
Evans,  was  proof  to  their  terrors.  Christian,  even  though 
inured  from  childhood  to  the  backstairs,  held  her  habit  skirt 
high,  and  thanked  heaven  for  her  riding-boots,  as  she  made 
her  way  down  the  worn  stone  steps,  at  some  half-past  four 
of  a  September  morning. 

Mount  Music  was  one  of  the  many  houses  of  its  period 
that,  with,  to  quote  Mrs.  Dixon,  "the  globe  of  Ireland  to 
build  over,"  had  elected  to  bestow  its  menials  in  dark  and 
complex  basements.  Christian  and  her  candle  traversed  the 
long  maze  of  underground  passages.  The  smell  of  past 
cooking  was  in  the  air,  the  black  and  evil  glitter  of  cock- 
roaches twinkled  on  the  walls  on  either  hand.  This  was  the 
horrible  part  of  subbing,  thought  Christian,  and  told  herself 
that  nothing  but  the  thought  of  seeing  the  debut  of  Dido, 
the  puppy  that  she  had  walked,  would  compensate  her  for 
facing  the  cockroaches. 

As  she  opened  the  kitchen  door  she  was  surprised  to  find 
a  lighted  lamp  on  the  table.  In  the  same  glance  she  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  figure,  retreating  hastily,  with  slippered  shuffle, 
followed  by  the  trailing  tappings  of  braces  off  duty.  On  one 
end  of  the  long  kitchen  table  was  seated  a  cat,  in  motionless 
meditation,  like  a  profile  in  an  Egyptian  hieroglyphic;  at 
the  other  end  was  a  steaming  cup  of  cocoa  and  plateful  of 
bread  and  butter. 

"Long  life  to  Evans!"  thought  Christian,  seating  herself, 

186 


MOUNT  MUSIC  187 

like  the  cat,  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  entering  upon  the 
cocoa. 

"Miss  Christian!"  a  raven-croak  came  through  a  slit  of 
the  pantry-door;  "keep  off  the  Carmodys'  land!  Mind  now 
what  I'm  tellin'  you!"  The  slit  ceased. 

"Thank  you  for  the  cocoa,  Evans,  but  why  must  I?" 
called  Christian,  in  a  breath. 

A  lower  croak,  that  seemed  to  end  with  the  words  "black 
papishes,"  came  through  the  closed  door. 

"Old  lunatic!"  thought  Christian;  she  drank  the  cocoa, 
and  putting  out  the  lamp,  groped  her  way  to  the  back-door. 
It  opened  on  a  shrieking  hinge,  and  she  was  out  into  a  pale 
grey  dawn,  pure  and  cold,  with  the  shiver  and  freshness  of 
new  life  in  it. 

The  Mount  Music  stable  yard  was  an  immense  square, 
with  buildings  round  its  four  sides,  and  a  high,  ivy-covered 
battlemented  wall  surrounding  and  overlooking  all.  In  the 
middle  of  the  yard  was  an  island  of  grass,  on  which  grew 
three  wide-armed  and  sombre  Irish  yews,  dating,  like  the 
walls,  ^rom  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Weeds  were 
growing  in  the  gravel  of  the  wide  expanse;  more  than  one 
stable-door  dropped  on  broken  hinges  under  its  old  cut- 
stone  pediments;  the  dejection  of  a  faded  and  remembered 
prosperity  lay  heavy  on  all  things  in  the  thin,  cold  air  of  that 
September  dawn. 

The  clatter  of  a  horse's  hoofs  came  cheerfully  from  a 
stable,  and,  as  Christian  crossed  the  yard,  a  dishevelled  young 
man,  with  a  large  red  moustache,  put  his  head  over  the 
half-door. 

"I'm  this  half-hour  striving  to  girth  her,  Miss,"  he  com- 
plained, "she  got  very  big  entirely  on  the  grass;  the  sur- 
cingle's six  inches  too  short  for  her,  let  alone  the  way  she 
have  herself  shwoll  up  agin  me!" 

Charles,  once  ruler  and  lawgiver,  was  dead,  and,  with  the 
departure  of  the  hounds,  Major  Dick's  interest  in  the  stables 
had  died  too;  his  tall,  grey  horse  was  ending  his  days  in 
bondage  to  the  outside  car;  the  meanest  of  the  underlings 


i88  MOUNT  MUSIC 

who  had  grovelled  beneath  Charles'  top-boots,  was  now  In 
sole  charge,  and  had  grown  a  moustache,  unchecked ;  and 
Christian's  only  mount  was  a  green  four-year-old  filly,  in 
whom  she  had  invested  the  economies  of  a  life-time,  with  but 
a  dubious  chance  of  their  recovery. 

"Can't  you  get  a  bit  of  string  and  tie  up  the  surcingle, 
Tommy?"  suggested  Christian,  who  was  now  too  well  used 
to  these  crises  in  the  affairs  of  the  stable  to  be  much  moved 
by  them. 

"Sure,  I'm  after  doing  it,  Miss.  T'would  make  a  cat 
laugh  the  ways  I  have  on  it!  She's  a  holy  fright  altogether 
with  the  mane  and  the  tail  she  have  on  her!  I  tried  to  pull 
them  last  night,  and  she  went  up  as  straight  as  a  ribbon  in 
the  stable!" 

The  flushed  face  and  red  moustache  were  withdrawn, 
and  with  considerable  clattering  and  shouting,  the  holy  fright 
was  led  forth.  She  was  a  small  and  active  chestnut  mare, 
with  a  tawny  fleece,  a  mane  like  a  prairie  fire,  and  a  tail 
like  a  comet.  Her  impish  eyes  expressed  an  alarm  that  was 
more  than  half  simulated,  and  the  task  of  manoeuvring  her 
into  position  beside  the  mounting  block,  was  comparable 
only  to  an  endeavour  to  extract  a  kitten  from  under  a  bed 
with  the  lure  of  a  reel  of  cotton.  An  apple  took  the  place 
of  the  reel  of  cotton,  and  its  consumption  afforded  Christian 
just  time  enough  to  settle  herself  in  her  saddle.  Since  the 
days  of  Harry  the  Residue  Christian  had  ridden  many  and 
various  horses,  and  she  had  a  reputation  for  making  the  best 
of  a  bad  job  that  had  often  earned  her  mounts  from  those 
who,  wishing  to  sell  a  horse  as  a  lady's  hunter,  were  anxious 
to  impart  some  slight  basis  of  fact  into  the  transaction. 

Tommy  Sullivan  watched  her  admiringly. 

"Where's  the  meet,  Miss?"  he  said,  quickly,  as  she  started, 
and  as  if  he  were  struck  by  a  sudden  thought. 

"Nad  Wood." 

"If  they  run  the  Valley,  Miss,  mind  out  for  wire !"  called 
Tommy  after  her,  as  she  rode  out  of  the  yard.  "Carmody's 
fences  are  strung  with  it!" 


MOUNT  MUSIC  189 

He  ran  to  the  gate  to  watch  the  mare  as  she  capered  and 
plunged  sideways  along  the  drive,  and  thanked  God,  not  for 
the  first  time,  for  the  heavy  hands  that  preserved  him  from 
the  duty  of  riding  Miss  Christian's  horses. 

Christian  rode  past  the  long  ivy-covered  face  of  the  house, 
that  stared  at  her  with  the  wall-eyed  glare  of  shuttered 
windows,  and  down  the  long  avenue,  that  curved  submissive 
to  the  windings  of  the  Onwashee,  now  black  and  brimming 
after  a  week  of  rain.  Young  cattle,  that  had  slept,  according 
to  their  custom,  on  the  roadway,  scrambled  up  as  she  came 
near,  and  crashed  away  through  the  evergreens,  whose  bared 
lower  branches  bore  witness  to  their  depredations.  They 
were  a  sight  hateful  to  Christian,  who,  in  spite  of  her 
resignation  to  the  methods  of  her  groom,  cherished  a  regard 
for  tidiness  that  she  had  often  found  was  more  trouble  than 
it  was  worth. 

She  let  Nancy,  the  chestnut  mare,  have  her  head,  a 
privilege  that  made  short  work  of  the  remaining  half-mile  of 
avenue,  and  soon  the  stones  and  mud  of  the  high  road  were 
flying  behind  her,  as  the  little  mare,  snatching  at  her  bridle, 
and  neglecting  no  opportunity  for  a  shy,  fretted  on  towards 
the  sunrise,  and  the  covert  that  lay,  purple,  on  a  long  hill, 
three  miles  away. 

Bill  Kirby's  foible  was  not  punctuality;  when  Christian 
arrived  at  the  appointed  cross-roads  in  the  middle  of  Nad 
Wood  she  found  a  patient  little  group  of  three  or  four  men, 
farmers,  all  of  them,  she  thought,  waiting  under  the  dewy 
branches  of  the  beeches  for  the  arrival  of  the  hounds.  One 
of  them  rode  quickly  from  the  group  to  meet  her.  A  young 
man,  with  a  slight  figure  and  square  shoulders,  who  was 
riding  a  long-legged  bay  horse,  that,  like  its  rider,  was  un- 
known to  Christian.  The  light  under  the  beech  trees  was 
dim  and  green,  and  such  faint  illumination  as  the  grey  and 
quiet  sky  afforded,  was  coming,  like  this  rider,  to  meet 
Christian.  He  was  close  to  her  before  he  spoke,  then  he 
caught  his  cap  off  his  head  and  waved  it,  and  shouted: 

"Hurrah,  Christian!     Here  I  am!    Home  again!    Don't 


190  MOUNT  MUSIC 

pretend  you  never  saw  me  before,  because  I  won't  stand 
swagger  from  you!" 

"Larry!    Not  you?    Not  really?" 

He  had  her  hand  by  this  time,  and  was  shaking  it  wildly, 
despite  the  resentment  of  the  chestnut  mare,  at  the  sudden 
proximity  of  the  bay  horse. 

"Yes!  Me  all  right!  Moi  qui  vous  parle — as  we  say  in 
French  Paris!  I  only  got  home  last  night.  I  bought  this 
chap  at  Sewell's  on  my  way  through.  He's  a  County  Limer- 
ick horse.  I  bet  he's  a  goerl  How  do  you  like  him?" 

It  was  like  Larry  to  require,  instantly,  praise  and  recogni- 
tion for  his  new  purchase,  but  Christian  wasn't  thinking  of 
the  horse.  Her  wide,  clear  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  rider,  her 
mind  was  a  hustle  of  questions. 

Had  he  changed?  Would  he  stay?  Did  he  know  that 
he  was  "in  black  books"  with  her  father?  Would  he  care 

if  he  did  know?  What  ages  it  seemed !  Four  years, 

wasn't  it?  Her  brain  was  working  too  hard  to  remember, 
but  she  certainly  remembered  that  he  had  not  had  a  mous- 
tache when  he  was  last  at  home ;  such  a  fanciful  little  French 
scrap  of  a  moustache  as  it  was  too,  made  of  pure  gold ! 

"I  rather  like  it,  Larry!"  she  said,  beaming  at  him;  "quite 
nice!" 

"What?  What's  quite  nice?"  says  Larry,  beaming  back; 
"oh,  this?'  He  gave  the  moustache  an  extra  upward  twist. 
"Yes,  rather  so!  Beats  the  Kaiser's  to  fits,  I  flatter  myself! 
I'm  glad  you  like  it,  but  I  don't  see  how  you  could  help  it  !H 

Yes!  This  was  the  old  Larry,  the  right  one;  Christian 
felt  very  glad.  It  might  so  easily  have  been  some  one  else, 
some  one  not  half  so  nice  as  her  own  old  Larry. 

"Why  on  earth  didn't  you  say  you  were  coming?  Cousin 
Freddy  told  us  that  you  were  painting  at  Etaples." 

"So  I  was  till  one  fine  day  I  'took  the  notion  for  to  cross 
the  raging  ocean,'  and  I'm  jolly  glad  I  did  too!  Oh,  by 
Jove!  Look  at  old  Bill  and  the  hounds!  What  a  swell! 
Christian,  do  you  know  I  haven't  seen  a  hound  for  four 


MOUNT  MUSIC  191 

3-ears!  Do  you  mind  if  I  call  them  'dogs,'  just  till  I  get 
used  to  them  a  bit?" 

There  are  few  bonds  more  enduring  than  those  that  are 
woven  round  the  playmates  of  childhood.  In  how  many 
raids  had  Larry  not  been  Christian's  trusted  leader'  What 
stolen  dainties  had  they  not  shared,  what  punishments  not 
endured  together!  Larry's  three  years  of  seniority  had  only 
deepened  the  reverence  and  loyalty  that  he  had  inspired  in 
his  youngest  follower;  he  had  never  presumed  upon  them; 
he  had  been  a  chieftain  worthy  of  homage,  and  he  had 
had  all  Christian's.  There  are  some  people  who  appear  to 
change  their  natures  when  they  grow  up.  They  may  have 
been  pleasing  as  little  boys  or  girls;  they  may  be  equally 
agreeable  as  men  and  women,  but  there  is  no  continuity  and 
no  development.  They  have  become  new  creatures.  Chris- 
tian, alone  of  her  family,  was  essentially  as  she  had  ever  been, 
and,  being  of  those  whose  inward  regard  is  as  searching  as 
their  outward  observation,  she  knew  it.  Now,  Larry  had 
come  back  again,  and  in  half-a-dozen  sentences  she  knew 
that  neither  had  he  changed,  and  that  with  him  her  ancient 
leader  had  returned. 

The  Wood  of  Nad  (which,  being  interpreted,  means  a 
nest)  filled  a  pocket  on  the  side  of  Lissoughter  Hill,  and 
had  thence  spread  over  the  crest  of  the  hill,  and  ended  near 
the  cross-roads  at  which  the  hounds  had  met. 

"Don't  holloa  away  an  old  fox.  I  want  to  kill  a  cub  if 
I  can.  I'll  let  you  know  if  the  hounds  get  away  below. 
You  needn't  be  afraid  I  won't!  Open  the  gate!" 

Thus,  magisterially,  the  Master,  standing  at  the  gate  into 
the  wood,  with  the  hounds  crushing  round  his  horse's  heels. 
'"Leu  in  there!" 

With  a  squeal  or  two  of  excitement  from  Dido  and  her 
brethren-puppies,  the  hounds  squeezed  through  the  narrow 
gateway,  and  were  swallowed  up  by  the  wood. 

Larry  returned  to  Christian's  side. 

"I  hate  not  seeing  Cousin  Dick  out,"  he  began;  "what 
a  pity  he  gave  'em  up !  Why  did  he  ?  You  know,  Christian, 


192  MOUNT  MUSIC 

you  were  pretty  rotten  about  writing  to  me!  Aunt  Freddy 
never  tells  me  a  thing  about  the  Hunt !  I  didn't  even  know 
Cousin  Dick  had  chucked  till  I  saw  it  in  The  Field." 

Larry  was  staring  at  Christian  as  he  spoke.  He,  like  her, 
was  searching  for  his  former  comrade;  but,  unlike  her,  was 
doing  so  unconsciously,  as  Larry  did  most  things:  What 
he  believed  himself  to  be  doing  was  appraising  her  appear- 
ance from  a  painter's  point  of  view.  He  found  he  had 
forgotten  her  eyes.  He  tried  to  think  of  them  in  terms  of 
paint ;  Brun  de  Bruxelles,  and  a  touch  of  cadmium,  or  was  it 
Verte  Emeraudef  Hang  it!  How  can  paint  do  more  than 
suggest  the  colours  of  a  sunlit  moorland  pool?  Was  it  the 
white  hunting-tie  that  gave  that  special  "value"  to  her  face? 
He  had  forgotten  how  delicious  in  tone  was  the  faint  colour 
that  just  tinted  her  cheek;  so  hopeless  a  word  as  pink  was 
not  to  be  thought  of;  just  a  hint  of  Rose  Garance  doree 
might  do  it.  And  to  get  the  drawing  of  those  subtle  outlines, 
the  ineffable  refinement  of  all  her  features.  Larry  put  his 
head  on  one  side,  and  screwed  up  his  eyes  (remembering 
faithfully  the  injunctions  of  "dear  old  Chose,"  en  dignant 
blen  les  yeux)  and  said  to  himself  that  she  would  put  dear 
old  Chose  himself  to  his  trumps,  and  then  maybe  he  wouldn't 
get  her  right! 

Aloud  he  said,  peremptorily  and  professionally: 

"Christian,  I'm  going  to  paint  you!  Eight  o'clock  at  the 
studio  to-morrow  morning,  Ma'mselle,  s'il  vous  plait!" 

Christian's  response  was  closured  by  a  wild  outcry  from 
the  wood,  hounds  and  horn  lifting  up  their  voices  together 
in  sudden  delirium.  Old  horses  pricked  their  ears,  and 
young  ones,  and  notably,  Nancy,  began  to  fret  and  to  fidget. 
Some  one  said,  unnecessarily:  "That's  him!"  A  man,  farther 
down  the  road,  turned  his  horse,  and  standing  in  his  stirrups, 
stared  over  the  wall  into  the  thick  covert,  rigid  as  a  dog 
setting  his  game.  Then  he  held  up  his  hat,  and,  a  moment 
later,  something  brown  glided,  with  the  fluent  swiftness  of 
a  fish  in  a  stream,  across  the  road  and  over  the  opposite 
wall.  The  scream  that  followed  him  was  not  needed;  was, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  193 

indeed,  hardly  heard  in  the  crashing,  clashing  clamour  of  the 
pack,  as  they  came  pitching  headlong  over  the  wall  of  the 
wood,  and  hurling  themselves  at  the  opposite  wall.  It  was 
high,  and  had  a  coped  top,  and  the  yelling  hounds  broke 
against  it,  and  fell,  like  waves  against  a  cliff.  A  couple 
achieved  it,  and  the  anguish  of  their  comrades,  as  they  heard 
them  go  away,  full-cry,  on  the  line,  redoubled.  In  the  same 
instant,  Larry  was  off  his  tall  bay.  He  flung  his  reins  to 
Christian,  and  was  into  the  struggling  pack.  It  is  no  easy 
matter  to  heave  a  hound  over  a  high  wall,  but  Larry  and 
a  young  farmer  had  somehow  shoved  over  four  couple,  before 
Bill  Kirby  and  his  whipper-in  came  and  swept  the  remainder 
to  a  place  of  possible  entrance  a  little  further  on. 

Larry  snatched  his  plunging  horse  from  Christian,  and 
started  to  gallop  before  he  was  fairly  in  the  saddle,  kicking 
his  right  foot  into  the  stirrup  as  he  went,  and  shouting 
gratitude  to  Christian  for  having  held  the  horse.  It  had  not 
been  easy.  Nancy  had  proved  the  accuracy  of  her  groom's 
statement  by  again  "going  up  as  straight  as  a  ribbon"  when 
the  hounds  crossed  the  road,  and  the  bay  had  not  been  back- 
ward in  emulating  her  efforts.  Bill  Kirby  had  had  luck; 
the  fox  had  run  left-handed  under  the  wall,  and  the  leading 
hounds  met  the  Master,  with  the  body  of  the  pack,  at  the 
verge  of  the  wood  on  its  farther  side.  A  bank,  pitted  with 
rabbit-holes,  a  space  of  stony  lane  with  a  pole  at  its  farther 
end,  and  Nad  Wood  was  a  thing  of  the  past. 

Outside,  a  fair  stretch  of  grass  presented  itself,  falling  in 
mild  gradients  to  the  banks  of  the  Broadwater,  sprinkled 
with  cattle,  dotted  with  groups  of  trees  clustering  round 
white  farm  houses,  from  whose  chimneys  the  thin,  blue  lines 
of  the  smoke  of  morning  fires  were  just  beginning  to  ascend. 

But  few  are  able  to  spare  much  thought  for  others  during 
a  first  burst  out  of  covert,  their  strictly  personal  affairs 
being  as  sufficient  for  them  as  is  the  day's  share  of  good  and 
evil  for  the  day;  but  Larry,  looking  often  over  his  shoulder 
as  he  galloped,  did  not  fail  to  note,  despite  his  engrossment 
in  his  new  purchase,  the  ease  and  competence  that  marked 


194  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Christian's  dealings  with  the  chestnut  mare,  to  whom  the 
twin  gifts  of  imagination  and  invention  had  been  lavishly 
granted.  It  has  been  ingeniously  said  that  the  enemy  of  the 
aboriginal  horse  was  a  creature  of  about  the  size  of  a  dinner- 
plate,  that  lay  hidden  in  grass;  nothing  less  than  a  concealed 
dinner-service  would  have  sufficed  to  account  for  the  mys- 
terious alarms  that  repeatedly  swept  Nancy  from  her  course; 
wafting  her,  like  a  leaf,  sideways  from  a  stream,  impelling 
her  to  swing,  from  the  summit  of  a  bank,  back  to  the  field 
from  which  she  had  wildly  sprung;  suggesting  to  her  that 
safety  from  the  besetting  dangers  could  alone  be  secured 
by  following  the  bay  horse  (whom,  after  the  manner  of 
young  horses,  she  had  adopted  as  a  father)  so  closely,  and 
at  such  a  rate  of  speed,  that  a  live  torpedo  attached  to  his  tail 
could  hardly  have  been  a  less  desirable  companion. 

At  a  momentary  check,  an  elderly  farmer,  many  of  whose 
horses  had  owed  to  Christian  their  first  introduction  to  a 
side  saddle,  spoke  to  her. 

"For  God's  sake,  Miss  Christian,"  he  said,  fervently,  "go 
home  with  that  mare!  She's  very  peevish!  I  wouldn't 
like  to  be  looking  at  her!  She  has  that  way  of  jumping 
stones  her  nose'd  nearly  reach  the  ground  before  her  feet!" 

"Never  fear  that  young  lady's  able  for  her!"  struck  in 
another  farmer,  the  former  owner  of  Nancy.  "How  well 
yourself'd  be  asking  her  to  be  riding  nags  that  couldn't  see 
the  way  that  little  mare'd  go!  Didn't  I  see  her  go  moun- 
tains over  the  stone  gap  awhile  ago?  And  yourself -seen  the 
same,  John  Kearney!" 

"If  it  was  mountains  and  pressy-pices  that  wTas  in  it  itself," 
returned  John  Kearney,  severely,  "I'd  say  the  same,  Michael 
Donovan.  Miss  Christian  knows  me,  and  I'm  telling 
her " 

At  this  point,  however,  Christian's  attention  was  absorbed 
by  Dido,  who  was  comporting  herself  with  precocious  zeal, 
and,  an  instant  after,  the  dispute  was  ended  by  the  shriek 
with  which  she  proclaimed  her  success.  For  some  fifteen 
minutes  the  hounds  ran  hard  and  fast ;  Nancy  began  to  settle 


MOUNT  MUSIC  195 

down,  and  to  realise  that  her  adopted  parent  invariably 
changed  feet  on  a  bank,  and  never  jumped  stones  as  if  he 
were  a  cork  bursting  perpendicularly  from  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne. The  fox  was  taking  them  through  the  best  of  the 
Broadwater  Vale  country;  pasture-field  followed  pasture- 
field,  in  suave  succession,  the  banks  were  broad  and  benevo- 
lent, the  going  clean  and  firm.  The  sun  had  just  risen,  and 
was  throwing  the  long  blue  shadows  of  the  hedge-row  trees 
on  the  dew-grey  grass.  The  river  valley  was  full  of  silver 
mists,  changing  and  thinning,  like  the  visions  of  a  clairvoyant, 
yielding  slowly  the  beauty  of  the  river,  and  of  its  garlanding 
trees,  to  those  who  had  eyes  to  see.  The  sky  became  bluer 
each  instant  as  the  sun  rushed  up,  and  Bill  Kirby  said  to 
himself  that  the  hunt  was  too  good  to  last,  and  the  scent 
would  soon  be  scorched  out. 

Not  long  afterwards  came  the  check.  The  fox  had  run 
through  a  strip  of  plantation,  and  in  the  succeeding  field  the 
scent  failed.  It  was  a  wide  pasture-field,  in  which  a  number 
of  young  cattle  were  running,  snorting,  bellowing,  and 
gathering  themselves  into  defensive  groups  at  the  unwonted 
sight  of  hounds. 

"That's  a  nice  little  plan  of  a  mare!"  said  the  young 
farmer  who  had  helped  Larry  with  the  hounds,  drawing  up 
beside  Christian,  "and  you  have  her  in  grand  condition, 
Miss;  she's  as  round  as  a  bottle!  She  has  a  great  jump  in 
her!"  he  went  on.  "She  fled  the  last  fence  entirely;  she 
didn't  leave  an  iron  on  it!  She  was  hopping  off  the  ground 
like  a  ball!" 

"That  was  no  credit  to  her!"  said  John  Kearney,  eyeing 
the  mare  and  her  rider  gloomily. 

'  Twas  a  sweet  gallop  altogether,"  said  Nancy's  former 
owner,  addressing  Christian,  and  ignoring  Mr.  Kearney's 
challenge,  "and  the  mare  carried  you  to  fortune!  But  sure 
it'd  be  as  good  for  you  to  take  her  home  now,  Miss  Christian, 
she  has  enough  done.  The  fences  from  this  out  aren't  too 
good  at  all."  He  cast  a  glance  at  Kearney. 

"Faith,  and  that's  true  for  you,"  said  Kearney  quickly, 


i96  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"Be  said  by  us  now,  Miss  Christian,  and  go  home.  The  road 
isn't  but  two  fields  back.  The  hounds'll  do  no  more  good, 
sure  the  sun's  too  strong." 

"Where  are  we?"  broke  in  Larry,  joining  the  group; 
"I've  lost  my  bearings." 

"Them's  the  Carmodys'  bounds,  sir,"  said  Michael  Dono- 
van in  a  colourless  voice,  indicating  the  next  fence. 

"Carmody's?"  said  Larry.  "Then  isn't  the  Derrylugga 
gorse  somewhere  hereabouts?  I  see  he's  casting  them 
ahead." 

"It's  burnt  down,"  said  Christian,  hurriedly.  Something 
in  her  face  checked  Larry's  exclamation.  In  Ireland  people 
learn  to  be  silent  on  a  very  imperceptible  hint. 

The  farmers  moved  away.  Said  Michael  Donovan  in  a 
low  voice  to  John  Kearney: 

"Will  she  go  back,  d'ye  think?" 

"I  d'no.     Har'ly,  I  think!" 

"It'd  be  a  pity  anything'd  happen  her.  She's  a  lovely 
girl  to  ride!" 

"You  may  say  that,  Michael!  The  father  gave  her  the 
sate,  but  it  was  the  Lord  Almighty  gave  her  the  hands!" 
said  old  Kearney,  devoutly. 

"Maybe  He'll  mind  her,  so!"  responded  Michael  Dono- 
van, without  irreverence. 

The  shifting  of  responsibility  brought  some  ease  of  mind. 

"God  grant  it!"  said  John  Kearney. 

Christian  was  ordinarily  possessed  of  an  innate  reasonable- 
ness that  responded  to  reason,  but  fear  was  not  in  her,  and 
an  appeal  to  reason  was  least  potent  with  her  when  she  was 
in  the  saddle.  The  veiled  hints  of  danger,  by  which  from, 
Evans  onwards,  she  had  been  beset,  only  woke  the  spirit  of 
revolt  that  slept  in  her  but  little  less  lightly  than  it  had 
slept  in  her  childhood,  and  were  as  fuel  on  the  flame  the 
run  had  kindled. 

"Larry,"  she  said,  with  a  light  in  her  eyes,  and  a  flush 
in  her  cheeks,  "do  you  think  I  ought  to  go  back?" 

"Go  back?    Why  should  you?" 


MOUNT  MUSIC  197 

Larry,  having  received  a  hasty  sketch  of  the  position,  gave 
his  advice  with  all  the  assurance  of  complete  ignorance. 
"Your  father  has  the  sporting  rights — anyhow,  I  don't  be- 
lieve they'll  stop  you.  Irishmen  are " 

Dissertation  as  to  what  Irishmen  were  or  were  not,  at- 
tractive though  it  was  to  a  young  man  who  knew  nothing 
of  the  subject,  was  checked  by  the  success  of  Bill  Kirby's  cast 
ahead.  Half  way  across  the  big  field,  the  hounds,  who  had 
been  industriously  spreading  themselves,  and  examining 
blades  of  grass  and  fronds  of  bracken  with  the  intentness  of 
botanists,  came,  with  a  sudden  rush,  to  a  deep  note  from  old 
Bellman,  and,  as  suddenly,  broke  into  full-cry,  with  the 
unanimity  of  an  orchestra  when  the  baton  comes  down. 
They  headed  for  "Carmody's  bounds,"  and  were  over  that 
solid  barrier,  and  running  hard  across  the  succeeding  field, 
before  most  of  the  riders  had  realised  what  had  happened. 
The  bounds  fence  was  an  honest  jump — big,  but  safe. 
Nancy,  at  the  heels  of  the  bay  horse,  came  up  on  to  it  with 
a  perfection  that  banished  all  other  thoughts  from  Christian's 
mind.  On  the  landing  side,  under  the  bank,  was  a  strong- 
running  stream,  and  two  or  three  of  the  horses,  at  sight  of 
it,  checked  on  the  wide  top  of  the  bank,  and  tried  to  turn. 
Not  so  Nancy.  It  was  enough  for  her  that  her  father  by 
adoption  had  not  hesitated.  She  slid  her  forefeet  a  little 
way  down  the  grassy  side  and  went  out  over  the  water  as 
if  the  bank  had  been  a  springboard.  It  was  only  then,  at 
the  gorgeous  rvioment  ->f  successful  landing,  that  Christian 
was  aware  of  ?.  young  man  running  towards  the  riders, 
bawling,  and  demonstrating  with  something  that  might  be 
a  gun. 

"That's  one  of  the  Carmodys,  Miss,"  said  old  Kearney, 
galloping  near  her.  "Don't  mind  him!  It's  as  good  for 
you  to  go  on  now.  That's  the  house  below " 

"Come  on,  Christian!"  shouted  Larry;  "he'll  do  no 
harm!" 

The  thought  crossed  Christian's  mind  that  it  might  be 
better  to  disregard  these  counsels,  and  to  stop  and  speak  to 


198  MOUNT  MUSIC 

the  assailant,  but  Nancy  had  views  of  her  own,  and  such 
arguments  as  a  snaffle  could  offer  were  quite  unavailing. 
"I  might  as  well  go  on,"  thought  Christian,  "we  shall  be 
off  his  land  in  a  minute." 

A  very  high  bank,  crowned  with  furze  and  thorn  bushes, 
divided  them  from  the  next  field;  there  was  but  one  gap  in 
it,  near  the  farm-house,  and  this  was  filled  with  a  complicated 
erection  of  stones  and  sods,  built  high,  with  light  boughs 
of  trees  laid  upon  them;  not  a  nice  place,  but  the  only 
practicable  one.  Bill  Kirby  and  his  whipper-in  jumped  it; 
some  of  the  farmers  drew  back,  but  Larry's  bay  horse  charged 
it  unhesitatingly,  and  soared  over  it  with  the  whole-souled 
gallantry  of  a  well-bred  horse.  Nancy,  pulling  hard,  fol- 
lowed him.  Christian  heard  Larry  shout,  and,  looking 
round,  saw  him  turn  in  his  saddle  and  strike  with  his  crop 
at  something  unseen.  At  the  last  instant,  as  the  mare  was 
making  her  spring,  a  second  man  appeared  on  the  farther 
side  of  the  jump,  yelling,  and  brandishing  a  wide-bladed 
hay-knife.  To  stop  was  impossible;  Christian  could  only 
utter  a  sharp  cry  of  warning,  as  Nancy,  baulked  by  the 
suddenness  of  the  attack,  but  unable  to  stop  herself,  went 
up  almost  straight  into  the  air,  and  came  down  on  the 
boughs,  with  her  hindlegs  on  one  side  of  them  and  her 
forelegs  on  the  other.  Then  she  fell  forward  on  to  her 
knees,  and  rolled  on  to  her  off  shoulder,  her  hind  legs  still 
entangled  in  the  boughs.  Christian  fell  with  her,  and  as 
the  mare's  shoulder  came  to  the  ground,  her  rider  was 
thrown  a  little  beyond  her  on  the  off  side.  The  man,  having 
saved  himself  by  a  leap  to  one  side,  had  instantly  taken  to 
his  heels. 

Christian  was  on  her  feet  before  even  Larry,  quick  as  he 
was  in  stopping  his  horse  and  flinging  himself  from  his  back, 
could  reach  her. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  The  question,  so  fraught  with  fear, 
and  breathless  with  remembered  disasters,  was  answered  al- 
most before  it  was  uttered. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  199 

"Not  a  scrap!  Absolutely  all  right;  but  I  don't  know 
about  Nancy " 

One  of  the  mare's  hind  feet  was  wedged  in  the  fork  of  a 
bough;  she  struggled  fiercely,  and  in  a  second  or  two  she 
had  freed  both  her  hind  legs  from  the  tangle  of  twigs,  and 
lay  prone  at  the  foot  of  the  barricade. 

"She's  all  right!  He  didn't  touch  her,"  said  Larry,  catch- 
ing her  by  the  bridle.  "Come,  mare!" 

Nancy  made  an  effort,  attempting  to  get  on  to  her  feet, 
and  rolled  over  again  on  to  her  side. 

"Oh,  get  the  mare  up,  one  of  you!"  shouted  Larry,  wild 
with  the  rage  that  had  gathered  force  from  the  terror  by 
which  it  had  first  been  strangled.  "I  want  to  go  after  that 
damned  coward " 

He  caught  his  horse's  bridle  from  a  man  who  had  climbed 
over  the  bank,  leaving  his  own  horse  on  the  farther  side. 

"Why  the  devil  did  none  of  you  stop  the  brute?"  he 
stormed  at  the  little  group,  now  standing  on  the  bank,  look- 
ing down  upon  the  prostrate  mare,  while  he  tried  to  steady 
his  plunging  horse  in  order  to  mount. 

"It's  no  good  for  you,  sir!"  called  John  Kearney  to  him; 
"he's  away  back  of  the  house,  ye'll  never  get  him!" 

"Don't  go,  Larry,"  said  Christian,  who  was  kneeling  by 
Nancy,  caressing  her  and  murmuring  endearments.  "I'm 
afraid  she's  badly  hurt." 

The  mare  was  lying  still.  Michael  Donovan,  who  had 
bred  her,  slipped  his  hand  under  her,  and  drew  it  out,  red 
with  blood. 

"Go  after  him,  if  ye  like,  the  bloody  ruffian!"  he  said, 
furiously,  "but  the  mare  will  never  rise  from  this!  Oh, 
my  lovely  little  mare!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Larry  let  his  horse  go,  and  flung 
himself  on  his  knees  beside  Donovan.  Christian,  colourless 
continued  to  try  and  soothe  Nancy,  who  lay  without  moving, 
though  her  frightened  eye  turned  from  one  to  another,  and 
her  ears  twitched. 


200  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"Staked  she  is!"  roared  Donovan;  "that's  what  I  mean! 
Look  at  what's  coming  from  her!" 

He  broke  into  a  torrent  of  crude  statements,  made,  if 
possible,  more  horrible  by  curses. 

Larry  struck  him  on  the  mouth  with  his  open  hand. 

"Shut  your  mouth!     Remember  the  lady!" 

Michael  Donovan  took  the  blow  as  a  dog  might  take  it, 
and  without  more  resentment. 

Christian  quickly  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Don't  mind,  Michael.  Let  me  see  what  has  happened 
to  her " 

Nancy's  eye  rolled  back  at  Christian,  as  she  stooped  over 
her,  leaning  on  Donovan.  Already,  a  dark  pool  was  form- 
ing beside  her. 

"You  couldn't  see  where  the  branch  bet  her,  Miss,"  said 
Donovan,  quieted  by  Christian's  touch,  "but  there's  what 
done  it!"  He  pointed  to  the  sharp,  jagged  end  of  one  of 
the  branches,  red  with  blood. 

"The  Vet "  said  Christian,  trying  to  think,  speaking 

steadily.  "Couldn't  someone  fetch  Mr.  Cassidy?" 

"No  good,  my  dear,"  said  old  Kearney,  wagging  his  head; 
"No  good  at  all!  There's  no  medicine  for  her  now  but 
what'll  come  out  of  a  gun!" 

Christian  looked  up  into  the  faces  of  the  little  knot  of 
men  round  her. 

"Is  that  true?"  she  said,  watching  them. 

And  all  the  time  a  voice  in  her  mind  said  to  her  that 
it  was  true. 

"God  knows  I  wouldn't  wish  it  for  the  best  money  ever 
I  handled,"  said  one  man,  and  looked  aside  from  her  eyes. 

Another  shook  his  head,  and  muttered  something  about 
the  Will  o'  God.  A  third  said  it  was  the  sharp  end  of  the 
branch  that  played  hammock  with  her;  he  lost  a  cow  once 
himself  the  same  way.  Old  Kearney  summed  up  for  the 
group. 

"There  is  no  doubt  in  it,  Miss  Christian,  my  dear 
child ," 


MOUNT  MUSIC  201 

Christian  leaned  hard  on  Larry's  shoulder  as  she  rose  to 
her  feet. 

"I'm  going  to  get  Carmody's  gun,"  she  said,  beginning 
to  walk  away.  "He  had  one.  I  saw  it.  I  don't  suppose 
he'll  mind  lending  it  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THERE  are  illnesses  that  take  possession  of  their  victims 
slowly  and  quietly,  with  an  imperceptible  start,  and  a  gradual 
crescendo  of  envelopment;  others  there  are,  that  strike,  sud- 
den as  a  hawk,  or  a  bullet.  And  this  is  true  also  of  that 
other  illness,  the  fever  of  the  mind  and  heart  that  is  called 
Love.  An  old  song  says,  and  says,  for  the  most  part,  truly, 

"I  attempt  from  Love's  sickness  to  fly  in  vain." 

Larry  Coppinger  did  not  attempt  to  fly,  even  though  he 
knew  as  precisely  the  moment  when  the  fever  struck  him, 
as  did  Peter's  wife's  mother  when  her  fever  left  her.  Per- 
haps he  might  then  have  tried  to  escape;  he  knew  it  was  too 
late  now.  That  fatal  rapturous  moment  had  been  when  he 
saw  Christian  setting  forth,  a  lonely,  piteous  figure,  to  fetch 
Carmody's  gun.  He  had  followed  her,  and  his  entreaties 
to  her  to  let  him  deal  with  the  matter  had  prevailed.  She 
had  turned  back,  and  kneeling  down  again,  kissed  the  white 
star  on  Nancy's  forehead,  murmuring  something  to  her  that 
Larry  could  not  hear.  He  had  put  her  saddle  on  his  own 
horse;  when  he  mounted  her,  she  had  stooped  down  from 
the  tall  horse's  back,  and  had  whispered :  "  'That  thou  hast 
to  do,  do  quickly.'  "  He  went  over  it  all  in  his  mind ;  that 
was  all  she  had  said,  and  he  had  not  seen  her  since. 

On  that  afternoon  as  he  moved  about  the  room  he  had 
chosen  for  his  studio,  and  unpacked  the  monster  cases  he 
had  brought  from  Paris,  he  remembered  how,  long  ago, 
Mrs.  Twomey  had  laughed  at  him  when  he  told  her  he  was 
never  going  to  marry. 

"Wait  awhile!"'  mocked  Mrs.  Twomey,  "one  day  it'll 
sthrike  ye  all  in  the  minute — the  same  as  a  pairson'd  get 
a  stitch  when  they'd  be  leaning -over  a  churn!" 

202 


MOUNT  MUSIC  203 

Well,  it  had  so  struck  him,  and  struck  him  hard,  and  he 
was  reeling  from  the  blow. 

Her  courage,  oh  God !  her  courage !  How  she  had  ridden 
that  little  mad  devil  of  a  mare!  There  wasn't  a  man  out 
who  would  have  got  her  over  that  big  country  as  she  had! 
And  then,  when  that  cur  had  done  his  dirty  work  and  bolted, 
was  there  a  whimper  or  a  cry  from  her?  She  had  faced  the 
music;  she  had  started  off  to  get  the  gun  herself.  'He 
knew,  just  a  little,  just  dimly,  he  told  himself  humbly,  what 
the  sight  of  suffering  was  to  her,  and  she  had  stood  up  to  it. 
She,  with  her  passion  for  animals;  she,  with  her  tender, 
tender  heTt!  Larry,  who  believed  himself  to  be  profoundly 
introspective,  did  not  know  that  it  was  his  own  flawless 
physical  courage,  finding  and  recognising  its  fellow  in  Chris- 
tian, that  had  first  lit  the  flame.  He  thought  it  was  her 
face,  with  its  delicate  charm,  its  faint,  elusive  loveliness, 
that  had  felled  him,  laid  him  low,  devastated  him.  He 
pleased  himself  in  reiterating  his  overthrow,  in  enumerating 
its  causes,  while  he  banged  bundles  of  canvases  on  to  the 
floor,  and  pitched  clattering  sketching-easels  and  stools  into 
corners,  and  covered  tables  and  chairs  with  the  myriad 
colour-boxes,  sketch-books,  palettes  of  every  shape  and  variety, 
brushes,  bottles,  all  the  snares  that  the  ingenious  marchand 
a  couleurs  spreads  in  the  sight  of  the  bird,  and  into  which 
the  bird,  especially  if  he  be,  like  Larry,  a  rich  amateur, 
cheerfully  hops.  He  hardly  was  aware  of  what  he  was  doing, 
his  hot  thoughts  raced  in  his  brain.  It  seemed  to  him  now 
to  have  been  years  ago  that  he  saw  her,  in  the  grey  light, 
riding  towards  him  on  Nancy.  She  had  said  that  he  might 
paint  her;  that  was  all  that  he  had  thought  of  then.  Much 
had  happened  since  then;  the  supreme  thing  had  happened 
since  then!  Nothing  else  really  mattered,  he  thought,  sitting 
down  on  the  edge  of  a  half-empty  packing  case,  and  lighting 
a  cigarette,  not  even  the  shooting  of  Nancy.  He  would 
give  her  a  dozen  Nancys  if  she  wanted  them!  The  first 
and  most  important  thing  in  the  world  was  to  see  her 
again;  and  he  had  to  arrange  how,  and  when,  and  where 


204  MOUNT  MUSIC 

he  should  paint  her.  Obviously  he  must  at  once  proceed  to 
Mount  Music. 

There  is  a  saying  among  Larry's  countrymen:  "If  a  man 
want  a  thing  he  THUS'  have  it!"  Fortune  had,  so  far,  been 
kind  to  Larry,  and  those  things  that  he  had  wanted  suffi- 
ciently, he  had  had.  It  now  remained  to  be  proved  if  the 
rule  were  to  have  an  exception. 

"I'm  going  over  to  Mount  Music  just  now,"  he  said  to 
Frederica  at  tea  time.  "I  want  to  see  them  all.  Will  you 
come,  Aunt  Freddy?" 

Aunt  Freddy  looked  perturbed. 

"You  haven't  seen  Cousin  Dick  yet,  have  you?" 

"No.  How  could  I?  He  wasn't  out.  I've  seen  no  one 
yet  but  Christian." 

His  voice  lingered  on  the  beloved  name,  beloved,  con- 
sciously, since  so  few  hours. 

But  Aunt  Freddy  was  not  apt  to  perceive  fine  shades,  and 
she  was,  moreover,  occupied  with  the  framing  of  a  warning. 

"You  know  that  Cousin  Dick  is  a  good  deal  changed  since 
you  saw  him?"  she  began.  "He  had  a  sort  of  heart  attack 
about  a  year  ago — Dr.  Mangan  was  with  him,  luckily.  They 
have  to  try  and  keep  him  very  quiet,  and  the  worst  of  it  is 
that  so  little  puts  him  out." 

"Well,  I  shan't  put  him  out,  shall  I?"  said  Larry,  con- 
fidently, beginning  on  a  third  slice  of  cake,  love  not  having, 
so  far,  impaired  his  appetite. 

"He  was  fearfully  put  out  about  your  selling  to  the 
tenants.  He  said  young  Mangan  had  no  right  to  advise 
you  to  sell  so  low.  He  told  me  that  even  Dr.  Mangan  was 
quite  against  his  doing  so." 

Miss  Coppinger  regarded  her  nephew  with  anxiety.  After 
four  years  of  absence,  one  never  knew  exactly  how  much  a 
young  man  might  not  have  changed.  That  little,  upturned, 
golden  moustache  might  not  by  any  means  be  the  whole 
of  it.  The  ice  barrier  had  been  forgotten  in  the  excitement 
of  his  return,  but  even  though  she  understood — and  tried 
not  to  feel  that  the  fact  had  its  mitigations — that  all  young 


MOUNT  MUSIC  205 

men  in  France  were  atheists,  that  other  fact  remained,  that 
next  Sunday,  when  she  started  for  Knock  Cecil  church, 
Larry,  if  he  went  anywhere,  would  go  to  the  white  chapel 
on  the  hill.  Aunt  Freddy  was  afraid  of  no  one  where  she 
believed  herself  to  be  right  (and  the  Spirit  of  the  Nation 
had  long  since  assured  her  of  this  in  matters  of  religion) ; 
least  of  all  was  she  afraid  of  "a  brat  of  a  boy,"  whom,  as  she 
boasted,  she  had  often  whipped  soundly  when  he  deserved 
it.  But,  unfortunately,  the  brat  had  her  heart  in  his  hands, 
and  her  heart  was  softer  than  Aunt  Freddy  knew;  and  this 
gave  the  brat  an  unfair  advantage. 

"Then  you  know,  Larry,"  she  continued,  her  eyes  showing 
what  her  1rm  mouth  did  not  admit;  "you  know,  my  dear 
boy,  it  was  rather — well,  rather  a  shock  to  us  to  see  in  the 
papers  your  name  proposed  as  the  Nationalist  candidate  here. 
It  upset  Dick  very  much,  and,  I  must  say,"  she  added,  un- 
flinchingly, "me  too!" 

Larry  put  down  the  third  piece  of  cake,  half -finished,  and 
went  round  the  tea-table,  and  sitting  on  the  arm  of 
Frederica's  chair,  put  his  arm  round  her  thin  shoulders. 

"I'm  so  sorry!"  he  said,  knowing  his  power,  and  using 
it,  "dear  Auntie  Fred!  I  ought  to  have  written  to  you.  I 
forgot  all  about  the  beastly  thing.  But  you  wouldn't  want 
me  to  go  back  of  my  word?  As  for  the  property — well,  I 
thought  that  was  only  my  own  affair.  I've  come  all  right 
out  of  it;  why  shouldn't  I  give  the  tenants  the  best  terms 
I  could?" 

"Cousin  Dick  says "  began  Frederica,  standing  to  her 

guns. 

"And  that  other  show,"  went  on  Larry,  disregarding  what 
Cousin  Dick  might  have  said.  "Goodness  knows  when 
there'll  be  an  election " 

"That  doesn't  alter  the  fact,"  said  Frederica,  firmly. 

"Yes,  I  know.  Of  course  I  must  hold  by  my  own  con- 
victions, but  let's  put  off  the  row  until  the  time  comes !  One 
is  bound  to  have  rows  at  elections!  I  don't  want  to  fight 
now !" 


206  MOUNT  MUSIC 

He  pressed  a  kiss  upon  her  forehead.  He  was  feeling  in 
lore  and  charity  with  all  men.  To  wheedle  Aunt  Freddy 
into  forgiveness  was  the  first  outlet  that  presented  itself  for 
the  excitement  that  was  consuming  him. 

Larry  walked  to  Mount  Music  through  the  Wood  of  the 
Ownashee,  alone.  Miss  Coppinger  said  she  disliked  the  short 
way  across  the  river  by  the  stepping  stones,  and  preferred  to 
drive  the  now  venerable  Tommy  round  by  the  road;  in  her 
heart,  brave  as  she  was,  she  trusted  that  Larry  would  have 
got  through  his  meeting  with  Dick  before  she  arrived. 
Therefore  did  Larry  step  along  the  pebbly  path  by  the  river, 
under  the  dense  canopy  of  beechen  boughs,  with,  for  com- 
panions, only  the  two  hound  puppies  that  Bill  Kirby  did  not 
fail  to  foist  annually  upon  all  amenable  friends.  These 
lumbered  after  Larry's  quick  foot,  with  all  the  engaging 
absurdity  of  their  kind;  tripping  over  their  own  enormous 
feet,  chewing  outlying  portions  of  one  another,  as  ill-brought- 
up  babies  chew  their  blankets;  sitting  down  abruptly  and 
unpremeditatedly,  and  watching  with  deep  dubiety  the  de- 
parting form  of  their  escort,  as  though  a  sudden  and  shatter- 
ing doubt  of  his  identity  had  paralysed  them,  until  some 
contrary  wind  of  doctrine  blew  them  into  action  again,  and 
they  hurled  themselves  upon  his  trail,  filled  with  the  single 
intention  to  rush  between  his  legs.  Nothing  but  that  instinct 
of  self-preservation  that  operates  independent  of  the  reason, 
preserved  Larry  from  frequent  and  violent  overthrow.  His 
head  was  in  the  clouds;  he  was  abandoning  himself  to 
dreams,  with  the  very  same  headlong  enthusiasm  that 
Scandal  and  Steersman  brought  to  bear  upon  the  problems 
of  existence.  He  strode  past  the  glade  that  had  been  the 
scene  of  the  Cluhir  picnic  without  so  much  as  a  thought  of 
Tishy  Mangan.  Had  you  or  I  reminded  him  of  that  brief, 
yet  moving,  episode,  he  would  probably  have  regarded  us 
with  wide,  bewildered,  blue  eyes,  and  asked  for  details. 
Then,  as  memory  awakened,  he  would  have  laughed  de- 
lightedly, and  said:  "Yes!  By  Jove!  So  I  was!  But  Georgy 
cut  me  out,  didn't  he?"  And  he  might  have  added  that 


MOUNT  MUSIC  207 

there  had  been  scores  of  them  since  Tishy,  he  had  forgotten 
half  of  them — but  this,  THIS  !  Larry  would  then,  inevitably, 
have  lapsed  into  rhapsody,  as  would  be  no  more  than  was 
decent  and  right  in  a  young  man  of  artistic  temperament, 
and  you  or  I,  our  malign  intention  baffled,  would  have  retired 
in  deserved  confusion. 

Old  Evans  was  in  the  hall  as  Larry  walked  in  through 
the  open  door.  He  received  Larry's  hand-shake  coldly;  the 
four  years  that  had  passed  since  Larry  had  seen  him  had 
withered  and  greyed  him;  Larry,  something  dashed  by  the 
reception,  remembered  the  title  given  him  long  ago  by  Chris- 
tion — "the  many-wintered  crow," — and  found  satisfaction  in 
deciding  that  the  crow  was  a  scald-crow,  and  a  sour  old 
divil  at  that;  anyhow,  Evans  had  always  had  a  knife  into 
him,  so  it  made  no  difference. 

In  the  drawing-room  things  went  well  enough,  even 
though  there  was  an  unexplainable  chill  in  the  atmosphere. 
Cousin  Isabel  was  as  kind  and  gentle  and  vague  as  ever; 
Judith  was  there,  very  handsome  and  prosperous,  not  over- 
enthusiastic  in  welcome,  rather  inclined  to  patronise  a  very 
young  man,  quite  two  months  younger  than  a  married  lady 
of  position  and  importance.  Nevertheless,  there  was  some- 
thing unregenerate  about  her  eye,  that,  taken  in  connection 
with  the  two  subalterns  in  whose  car  she  had  come  to  call 
at  Mount  Music,  suggested  that  Bill  Kirby  might  at  times 
find  life  stirring.  John,  recently  ordained,  now  a  very 
decorative  curate  in  a  London  church,  was  there,  even  more 
patronising  than  Judith,  and  undecided  whether  to  regard 
Larry  with  suspicion,  as  a  brand  still  smouldering  from  the 
fires  of  secularist  France,  or  affectionately,  as  a  member  of 
what,  in  one  of  his  earlier  sermons,  he  had  described  as  "Our 
ancient  Mother  Church,  dear  Peopul!  Beloved,  but  in  some 
matters,  that  I  will  presently  indicate  to  you,  mistaken!" 

The  subalterns  were  remote,  not  approving  of  the  style 
of  Larry's  tie  (which  he  had  bought  in  Paris,  and  differed 
from  theirs)  and  Cousin  Dick  was  not  there. 


208  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"You  must  go  and  see  him,  dear  Larry,"  says  Cousin 
Isabel,  "he's  in  the  study." 

"And  Christian?  Though,  of  course,  I  met  her  this  morn- 
ing  "  says  Larry. 

Christian,  poor  child,  went  out  for  a  little  walk  with  the 
dogs  just  now.  Christian  (poor  child)  had  felt  that 
wretched  business  this  morning  so  terribly.  The  wretched 
business  was  gone  into,  thoroughly  and  exhaustively,  and  yet 
Larry  felt  that  across  one  corner  of  it  there  was  a  fold 
of  curtain  drawn.  He  said  he  would  go  and  see  Cousin 
Dick.  There  was  always  a  chance  that  Christian,  also, 
might  be  in  the  study.  The  axiom  that  "If  a  man  want 
a  thing  he  mus'  have  it,"  should,  in  Larry's  case,  have  the 
corollary  that  he  must  have  it  at  once. 

The  Major  was  standing  by  the  chimney  piece  in  the 
study,  warming  one  foot  after  the  other  at  the  fire  that 
Evans  had  just  replenished.  Larry  met  the  scald-crow  at 
the  door,  and  Evans  passed  him  "as  if,"  thought  Larry,  dis- 
gustedly, "he  had  been  seeing  me  every  day  for  a  year !  The 
old  beast  always  hated  me!"  Larry  did  not  like  being  hated. 

Cousin  Dick's  greeting  was  more  like  old  times.  Dick 
was  one  of  those  people  whose  wrath  has  a  tendency  to 
intermit  and  get  cold,  even  to  perish,  temporarily,  from 
forgetfulness.  On  the  other  hand,  in  compenastion,  perhaps, 
for  this  failing,  it  was  a  fire  easily  rekindled.  He  was 
still  shaking  Larry's  hand,  and  looking  him  up  and  down, 
affectionately,  and  withal,  with  the  inevitable  patronage  of  a 
long-legged  man  for  one  from  whom  Nature  has  withheld 
similar  advantages,  when  Larry  discovered  the  large  presence 
of  Dr.  Mangan  uplifting  itself  from  the  chair  facing  Cousin 
Dick's,  by  the  fire.  (But  Christian  was  not  there.  He 
resigned  himself.)  There  was  no  want  of  warmth  in  the 
Big  Doctor's  reception.  He  was  quite  aware  of  this  himself, 
and  was  artist  enough  to  know  how  useful  an  asset  was  the 
fact  that  he  was  genuinely  fond  of  Larry.  He  had  indeed 
proposed  to  exhibit  his  affection  in  pleasing  contrast  to  the 
coolness  of  Larry's  Protestant  relatives,  and  that  the  Major 


MOUNT  MUSIC  209 

had  forgotten  the  role  assigned  to  him,  was  a  little  disap- 
pointing. "But  wait  awhile!"  thought  the  Big  Doctor,  who, 
among  his  other  elephantine  qualities,  possessed  that  of 
patience. 

The  Major  seated  himself  in  front  of  the  fire,  and  Larry 
pulled  up  a  chair,  wondering  in  his  heart  what  these  old  boys 
wanted  with  a  fire  this  lovely  afternoon,  and  delivered  him- 
self to  the  old  boys  and  to  conversation.  This,  naturally,  set 
with  a  single  movement  towards  the  event  of  the  morning. 
"A  real  likely  little  mare,  and  shaping  well,  I'm  told,"  says 
Dick,  "and  by  the  bye,  Larry,  that's  a  dev'lish  nice  horse 
of  yours  that  Christian  came  back  on.  Where  did  you  get 
him?" 

These  hunting  men  were  incorrigible,  the  Doctor  thought, 
seeing  the  Carmody  question  in  danger  of  being  side-tracked. 

"Things  have  come  to  a  funny  way  in  this  country,"  he 
observed,  "when  a  fellow  will  deliberately  chance  killing  a 
young  lady,  rather  than  let  her  ride  over  his  land — and  she 
having  a  right  to  ride  over  it  into  the  bargain!" 

It  needed  but  little  to  start  Major  Talbot-Lowry  again 
on  the  topic  that  had  occupied  him  unceasingly  since  Chris- 
tian's return  that  morning.  Beginning  with  the  burning  of 
the  Derrylugga  gorse  covert,  and  moving  on  through  threat- 
ening letters,  and  rents  deliberately  withheld,  he  lashed  him- 
self into  one  of  the  quick  furies  that  Larry  remembered  well. 
What  Larry  was  less  prepared  for  than  was  his  friend,  Dr. 
Mangan,  was  the  sudden  turn  that  the  storm  took  in  his 
direction. 

"The  blackguards  think  they  can  frighten  me  into  selling 
on  their  own  terms!"  shouted  Dick,  "and  that  damned  priest 
of  theirs — I  beg  your  pardon,  Mangan,  but  the  fellow 
doesn't  behave  like  a  clergyman,  and  it's  impossible  to  think 
of  him  as  one — is  backing  them  up,  and  I  may  say" — here 
it  was  that  the  heart  of  the  storm  was  revealed — "I  may  say 
that  I'm  very  little  obliged  to  your  son,  or  to  his  principal 
here,  for  the  part  they  have  played  in  the  affair !  That  was 
the  beginning  of  the  whole  thing!"  He  turned  fiercely  upon 


210  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Larry,  his  tenor  voice  pitched  on  a  higher  key.  "How  could 
I,  with  my  property  loaded  with  charges,  that  were  no  fault 
of  mine,  sell  at  the  price  you  could  afford  to  take?  Look 
at  the  price  that  fellow — what's  his  damned  name? — Brady, 
got  for  his  farm,  for  the  tenant-right  alone,  mind  you !  Forty 
years'  purchase!  And  I'm  offered  seventeen  for  the  fee 
simple!" 

Dick  was  standing  up  on  the  hearthrug,  towering  over  the 
Doctor  and  Larry  in  their  low  chairs.  Larry  noticed  how 
thin  he  had  become,  and  how  the  well-cut  grey  clothes, 
that  he  always  wore,  hung  loosely  on  his  shrunken  figure. 
"You're  a  young  fellow  now,  Larry;  wait  till  you've  been 
for  thirty  years  doing  your  best  for  your  property  and  your 
country,  and  getting  no  thanks!  Thanks!"  Dick  gave  a 
brief  and  furious  laugh.  "I've  kept  the  hounds  for  them. 
I've  slaved  on  the  Bench  and  on  Grand  Juries.  I've  got 
them  roads  and  railways,  and  God  knows  what  else — what- 
ever they  wanted — I've  sat  at  the  Board  of  Guardians,  and 
done  my  best  to  keep  down  the  rates,  till  they  kicked  me  out 
to  make  room  for  men  who  would  sell  their  souls  for  a  six- 
pence, and  made  their  living  out  of  bribes!" 

"Oh,  come,  come,  Major,  it's  not  so  bad  as  all  that!"  said 
the  Big  Doctor,  soothingly,  as  Dick  stopped,  panting  for 
breath.  "Don't  mind  it  now!" 

"But  I  must  mind  it!"  shouted  Dick.  "When  I  think  of 
how  I've  been  treated,  and  plenty  more  like  me,  loyal  men 
who  run  straight  and  do  their  best,  I  declare  to  God  I  feel 
I  don't  know  which  I  hate  worst,  the  English  Government, 
that  pitches  its  friends  overboard  to  save  its  own  skin,  or  my 
own  countrymen,  that  don't  know  the  meaning  of  the  word 
gratitude !" 

He  turned  again  upon  Larry:  "And  upon  my  word  and 
honour,  Larry,  I  didn't  think  that  your  father's  son  would 
have  been  tarred  with  that  brush,  anyhow!" 

"Now,  Major,"  broke  in  Dr.  Mangan,  again,  "you  know 
we  agreed  that  there  was  no  use  in  attaching  too  much 
importance  to  that  transaction.  Barty  and  Larry  here  were 


MOUNT  MUSIC  211 

in  a  very  difficult  position,  and  even  though  you  and  I  might 
not  have  approved  entirely  of  their  action " 

"But,  Doctor,"  interrupted  Larry,  bewildered,  and  dis- 
mayed, "You — I  thought  you  had  advised  Barty " 

The  Big  Doctor  frowned  at  him,  and  winked  too,  while  he 
laid  his  huge  white  hand  on  his  watch-pocket,  tapping  with 
his  middle  finger  on  the  spot  which,  as  he  knew,  the  average 
layman  dedicated  to  the  heart.  He  trusted  to  Larry's  quick- 
ness, and  did  not  trust  in  vain. 

"A  sort  of  heart  attack,"  Aunt  Freddy  had  said. 

"I'm  most  frightfully  sorry,  Cousin  Dick,"  Larry  began, 
hurriedly,  before  a  worse  thing  happened.  "Somehow,  I 
never  thought — you  see  I  was  out  of  the  country — it  seemed 

to  me  that "  he  was  going  to  repeat  those  comforting 

sedatives  about  leaving  the  man  at  the  helm  to  bark  for 
you — (Heavens!  He  had  been  on  the  point  of  saying  that! 
Was  he  going  to  laugh?) — but  he  couldn't  give  Barty  away. 
He  rushed  into  apology,  regret,  abuse  of  his  own  ignorance, 
and  imbecility,  and  the  Big  Doctor,  at  each  pause  in  the 
penitence,  poured  a  little  oil  and  wine  into  the  wounds  for 
which  Larry  and  the  Carmodys  were  jointly  responsible, 
and  Dick's  anger,  like  the  red  that  had  flared  to  his  face, 
fell  like  a  spent  flame. 

"Say  no  more,  boy,  say  no  more,"  he  said,  dropping 
into  the  chair  from  which  he  had  leaped  in  the  course  of  his 
apologia  pro  vita  sua;  "I  daresay  you  knew  no  better — any- 
how, you  didn't  mean  to  do  me  a  bad  turn " 

Larry  took  his  hand.  "You  know  that,  Cousin  Dick," 
he  said,  in  profound  distress.  "Of  all  people  in  the  world 
— the  very  last.  If  there  was  anything  I  could  do  now " 

"Well  now,  I'll  tell  you  what  you  could  do!"  cut  in  Dr. 
Mangan,  jovially,  "you  could  tell  our  friend  Evans  to  bring 
in  the  Major's  tumbler  of  hot  milk  and  whisky,  and  to  look 
sharp  about  it  too!  I  ordered  he  was  to  have  it  at  six 
o'clock " 

He  looked  hard  at  Larry,  who  realised  that  his  disturbing 
presence  was  to  be  removed,  and  forthwith  removed  it. 


212  MOUNT  MUSIC 

He  delivered  his  message,  and  strayed  back  to  the  big, 
empty  hall.  A  sense  of  aloofness,  of  having  no  place  nor 
part  in  this  well-remembered  house,  was  on  him.  None  of 
them  wanted  him;  he  could  see  that  easily  enough,  and  he 
had  done  Cousin  Dick  a  bad  turn.  He  had  said  so.  If  it 
came  to  that,  he  supposed  he  had  done  Christian  a  bad  turn, 
too — Christian  and  Cousin  Dick,  the  only  two  of  the  whole 
crowd  who  had  been  really  glad  to  see  him.  He  thought 
of  her  face  as  she  came  riding  through  the  dusky  wood  to 
meet  him.  "The  dawn  was  in  it!"  he  said  to  himself;  again 
he  saw  it,  lit  with  the  light  that  the  hunt  had  kindled;  and 
then  he  thought  of  her  stricken  eyes,  as  she  looked  from  one 
man  to  another,  asking  for  the  hope  that  they  had  to  refuse 
her.  It  had  been  all  his  fault,  or — here  the  inner  apologist, 
that  is  always  quick  to  console,  interposed — not  quite  exactly 
his  fault.  How  was  he  to  have  known?  A  remembrance 
of  Cousin  Dick's  undeciphered  letters  came  to  him;  even 
the  inner  apologist  hung  his  head.  In  any  case — Larry's 
active  mind  resumed  its  deliberations — it  was  quite  clearly 
his  business  to  find  Christian  and  to  explain  to  her,  as  far 
as  was  possible,  how  things  stood. 

He  left  the  house.  A  garden-boy  had  seen  Christian 
"going  west  the  avenue";  Larry  collected  Scandal  and 
Steersman  from  the  ash-pit,  and  followed  her  "west  the 
avenue."  He  wralked  slowly,  noting  how  neglected  was  the 
general  aspect,  how  badly  the  avenue  was  in  need  of  gravel, 
remembering  how  in  the  old  days,  the  bands  of  slingers  had 
never  failed  of  ammunition,  wondering  if  the  Major  were 
really  as  hard  up  as  he  thought  he  was;  wondering  if  they 
had  all  turned  against  him,  and  if  they  would  set  Christian 
against  him  too.  He  came  to  the  turn  near  the  river  that 
led  to  the  stepping  stones,  and  stood,  in  deepening  depression, 
waiting,  in  the  hope  that  she  might  come.  It  was  seven 
o'clock,  the  sun  was  setting,  the  sky  was  warming  to  its 
last  loveliness  of  rose  and  amber,  and  amethyst,  colours  with 
names  almost  as  beautiful  as  themselves.  The  long  stretches 
of  grass  on  either  side  of  the  avenue  were  a  fierce  green,  the 


MOUNT  MUSIC  213 

brakes  of  bracken  were  burning  orange,  the  long  shadows 
of  the  trees  that  fell  across  the  roadway  were  purple.  The 
grove  of  yew  trees,  that  hid  the  course  of  the  river  from 
him,  had  the  sharpness  of  a  silhouette  cut  out  of  dark  velvet. 

"Not  really  black,"  Larry  told  himself,  screwing  up  his 
eyes.  He  moved  on  to  the  grass,  and  kneeling,  framed  with 
his  hands  as  much  as  seemed  good  to  him.  In  a  moment, 
in  the, intoxication  of  beauty,  he  had  forgotten  his  troubles; 
Cousin  Dick,  singing  the  swan-song  of  the  Irish  landlords; 
Dr.  Mangan,  and  his  bewildering  change  of  front;  even 
Christian,  and  her  views  as  to  his  responsibility  for  the 
tragedy  of  the  morning,  stood  aside  to  make  way  for  the 
absorbing  problems  of  colour  and  composition. 

The  hound  puppies  strolled  on,  side  by  side,  heads  up,  and 
high-held  sterns,  steering  for  nowhere  in  particular,  oblivious 
as  Larry  of  all  save  the  moment  as  it  passed.  A  rush  of 
rooks  came  like  a  tide  across  the  sky;  they  flew  so  low  that 
the  drive  and  rustle  of  their  wings  scared  the  puppies  and 
startled  Larry.  He  stood  up  and  watched  the  multitudinous 
host  swing  westward  to  his  own  woods,  and  just  then,  a 
couple  of  hundred  yards  ahead,  at  the  turn  where  the  avenue 
plunged  into  the  velvet  gloom  of  the  yew-trees,  he  saw 
Christian  coming  towards  him,  alone,  save  for  a  retinue  of 
dogs. 

If  that  old  saying  (already  quoted  with  reference  to  Dick 
Talbot-Lowry)  be  true,  when  it  asserts  that  "wise  men  live 
in  the  present,  for  its  bounty  suffices  them,"  then  was  Larry 
Coppinger,  like  his  cousin,  indeed  a  wise  man.  Remorse, 
anxiety,  the  wonder  of  the  sunset,  were  swept  from  his  mind, 
and  Christian  filled  it  like  a  flood.  She  looked  very  tired, 
and  he  told  her  so,  eyeing  her  so  closely  that  she  turned  her 
face  from  him. 

"I  won't  be  stared  at  and  scolded!  Why  shouldn't  I  be 
tired  if  I  like?" 

"If  it  were  only  tiredness "  said  Larry,  with  more 

tenderness  in  his  voice  than  he  knew.  "Christian,  they've 
been  telling  me  that  it  was  my  fault — the  rows  with  the 


214  MOUNT  MUSIC 

tenants,  and  that  devil  coming  at  you  this  morning — and — 
and  everything!" 

He  could  not  speak  directly  of  Nancy's  death;  he  knew 
what  Christian  felt  for  her  horses  and  dogs.  "I've  been 
looking  for  you  everywhere.  I  wanted  to  try  and  tell  you 
what  I  felt — but  since  I've  seen  your  father  and  old  Man- 
gan,  I  feel  too  abject  to  dare  to  say  I'm  sorry " 

"Why  should  they  think  it  was  your  fault?  It  was  my 
own  fault.  I  ought  to  have  gone  back  when  Kearney 
warned  me " 

"They  meant  the  whole  show.  Beginning  with  Barty's 
selling  to  my  tenants,  and  then  your  father's  people  making 
trouble,  and  the  Carmodys  burning  the  covert,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it!  They're  quite  right!  It's  all  my  rotten  fault! 
Christian,  I'm  going  back  to  France!  I  can't  face  you  after 
what  I've  brought  on  you!" 

In  the  bad  moments  of  life,  when  the  bare  and  shivering 
soul  stands  defenceless,  waiting  for  evil  tidings,  or  nerving 
itself  to  endure  condolence,  Christian  had  ever  a  gentle 
touch;  and  she  knew  too,  when  it  comforted  wrong-doers 
to  be  laughed  at. 

"Oh,  Larry!  And  you  pretended  you  wanted  to  paint 
my  picture!"  she  said,  looking  at  his  miserable  face  with 
eyes  that  shone  as  the  Pool  of  Siloam  might  have  shone 
after  the  Angel  had  troubled  it;  there  were  tears  in  them, 
but  there  was  healing,  too. 

Larry  took  her  hand  and  held  it  tight. 

"You  don't  mean  it — how  could  you  bear  to  look  at  me?" 

"But  I  shan't  look  at  you!  You  will  have  to  look  at  me 
— that  is,  if  you  can  bear  it!  You  must  try  and  brace  your- 
self to  the  effort!" 

This,  it  may  be  admitted,  was  provocation  on  Christian's 
part,  but,  as  she  told  herself  afterwards,  desperate  measures 
were  necessary,  or  they  would  both  have  burst  into  tears. 


THE  resolution  to  return  to  France,  announced,  as  has  been 
set  forth,  by  Mr.  St.  Lawrence  Coppinger,  was  not  adhered 
to.  In  the  first  place,  there  was  Barty  Mangan  and  the 
various  affairs  that  he  represented;  in  the  second  place,  there 
was  the  portrait;  in  the  third  place — which  might  as  well, 
if  not  better,  have  come  first — the  resolve  had  expired,  like 
the  flame  of  a  damp  match,  in  the  effort  that  gave  it  birth. 

Aunt  Freddy  welcomed  the  suggestion  of  the  portrait  with 
enthusiasm.  She  had  had  four  years  of  peace,  "careing" 
Coppinger's  Court  for  the  reigning  Coppinger;  to  "care" 
the  reigning  Coppinger  himself,  was,  she  felt,  a  far  less 
peaceful  undertaking.  She  agreed  entirely  with  the  well- 
worn  adage  relative  to  idle  hands,  and  had  no  illusions  as 
to  her  own  capacity  to  offer  alternative  attractions. 

"I  felt,"  she  remarked  to  Lady  Isabel,  "exactly  as  if  some- 
one had  deposited  a  half-broken  young  horse  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  had  told  me  to  exercise  it!  My  dear,  Christian's 
portrait  is  a  Godsend!  But  I  may  tell  you,  in  strict  con- 
fidence, that,  so  far,  it's  far  too  clever  for  an  ignoramus  like 
me  to  make  head  or  tail  of  it!" 

"It  certainly  fills  their  mornings  very  thoroughly,"  re- 
sponded Lady  Isabel,  rather  dubiously;  "Christian  vanishes 
from  breakfast  time  till  lunch.  I  suppose  you  see  more  of 
them?" 

Aunt  Freddy's  reply  was  less  distinct  and  definite  than 
was  usual  with  her.  Oh,  well — occasionally — yes,  generally 
—at  least,  always  sometimes — he  was  painting  her  in  the 
garden,  on  that  seat  by  the  yew  hedge — so  sheltered  and 
sunny,  and  the  weather  was  so  perfect;  she  was  working  in 
the  garden  herself  every  morning.  Thus  did  the  righteous 

215 


216  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Frederica  wriggle  and  prevaricate,  causing  Lady  Isabel  to 
assume  that  the  full  rigours  of  chaperonage  were  complied 
with,  while  to  herself,  Aunt  Freddy  thought  that  it  would 
be  perfectly  ideal.  But  what  "it"  was,  she  did  not  par- 
ticularise to  anyone. 

Mr.  St.  Lawrence  Coppinger  was  not  a  great  artist,  but 
it  had  been  conceded  to  him,  even  in  the  studio,  that  he  had 
pretty  colour  (which  was  quite  without  reference  to  his  own 
complexion)  and  a  knack  of  catching  a  likeness.  Added  to 
these  gifts  he  possessed  a  third,  in  being  able  to  talk  without 
hindering  the  activities  of  his  brush.  They  talked  a  great 
deal  to  each  other  during  those  long,  delightful  mornings 
in  the  sunny  corner  by  the  yew-hedge;  idle,  intimate  talk, 
that  wandered  back  to  the  days  of  the  Companions  of  Finn, 
and  on,  through  stirring  tales  of  the  Quartier  Latin  into  the 
future,  and  what  it  was  to  hold  for  them.  Larry  knew  what 
his  future  must  hold  if  it  was  to  satisfy  him.  Since  the 
moment  when  "Love's  sickness"  had  laid  hold  of  him  (the 
same  as  a  person  would  get  a  stitch  leaning  over  a  churn) 
he  had  known  it.  While  he  painted  her,  staring  deep  and 
hard,  appraising,  carefully,  with  his  outer  soul,  the  curve  of 
her  cheek,  the  delicate  drawing  of  her  small  ear,  the  tender 
droop  of  her  dark  eyelashes,  all  the  subtle  values  of  light  and 
shade,  all  the  problem  of  inherent  colour,  and  the  colour 
that  was  lent  by  the  sky  and  the  green  things  round  her, 
his  inner  soul  was  repeating  the  old  saying:  "I  love  my 
eyes  for  looking  at  you!" 

Sometimes  he  thought  he  would  stand  it  no  longer,  he 
would  throw  down  his  palette  and  his  brushes,  and  let  the 
portrait  go  to  blazes,  and  kneel  at  her  feet,  telling  her,  over 
and  over  again,  that  he  loved  her,  until  she  would  have  to 
believe  him.  Yet,  for  there  is  something  inhuman  about  the 
artist,  he  refrained.  The  portrait  was  going  so  well — the 
best  head  he  had  ever  done — out  of  sight  better  than  any- 
thing he  had  done  at  the  studio  (what  wouldn't  he  give  to 
have  a  lesson  on  it  from  old  Chose!).  He  wouldn't  break 
the  spell  of  successful  work  until  he  could  carry  the  picture 


MOUNT  MUSIC  217 

no  farther.  Then,  he  thought  to  himself,  oh  then,  he  would 
be  strong  to  speak! 

And,  did  he  but  know  it,  there  was  no  need  to  speak; 
not  any  need  at  all.  For  Christian  knew.  Not  enough  has 
been  said  about  her  if  it  has  not  been  made  clear  that,  for 
her  spirit,  the  barriers  and  coverings  that  other  spirits  take 
to  themselves  wherewith  to  build  hiding-places  and  shelters 
were  of  little  avail.  Motives  and  tendencies,  the  hidden 
forces  that  underlie  action,  were  perceptible  to  her  as  are  to 
the  water-diviner  the  secret  waters  that  bend  and  twist  his 
hazel  rod.  Well  she  knew  that  Larry  loved  her;  he  was 
not  the  first  in  whom  she  had  divined  it,  but  he  was  the 
first  whose  heart,  crying  to  her,  voicelessly,  had  wakened 
the  answering  chime  in  hers;  the  first,  she  said  to  herself, 
and  the  last.  She  wondered,  sometimes,  if  he  knew;  it 
seemed  incredible  that  he  could  be  with  her,  watching  her, 
studying  her  least  look,  and  not  know.  Yet,  she  loved  him 
for  not  knowing,  for  his  boyishness,  his  babyishness,  his  sim- 
plicity. She  wondered  if  she  were  a  fairy-woman,  who  by 
her  arts  had  beguiled  a  mortal.  She  had  met  an  extraor- 
dinary woman  once,  in  London,  where  anyone,  however 
extraordinary,  is  possible,  and  this  being,  so  she  told  Larry, 
had  gazed  at  her,  raptly,  had  then  assured  her  that  she  saw 
her  aura  (blue  shot  with  gold)  and  had  told  her  that  she 
had  a  very  aged  soul. 

"I  felt  as  if  I  were  an  old  boot!"  said  Christian. 

"Old  idiot  herself!"  Larry  said  hotly;  "what  else  did 
she  pretend  to  know  about  you?" 

"She  said  she  had  met  me  before,  in  a  previous  incarnation. 
She  couldn't  believe  that  I  didn't  remember  her.  But  I 
couldn't." 

"I'm  glad  you  couldn't,"  said  Larry,  still  angry.  "I  won't 
have  you  remembering  lives  that  I  wasn't  in!  Anyhow, 
I  don't  believe  they  were  half  as  good  as  this  one.  I  call 
this  a  thundering  good  life.  /  don't  want  to  have  been 
Julius  Caesar  or  Queen  Anne." 

"Oh,  I  daresay  you  weren't,"  said  Christian,  consolingly; 


218  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"you  don't  remind  me  of  either  of  them.  What  would  tc 
more  to  the  point  would  be  to  know  what  you  were  going 
to  be.  In  this  life,  I  mean." 

"Oh,  a  painter  first,"  said  Larry,  responding  with  alacrity, 
as  do  most  people,  to  the  stimulus  of  discussing  himself; 
"but  not  exclusively.  I  shouldn't  mind  having  the  hounds 
for  a  bit,  and  I  should  like  to  travel — the  gorgeous  East, 
you  know — that  sort  of  thing.  And  I  must  say,"  he  hesi- 
tated, "I'm  rather  keen  to  have  a  shot  at  politics." 

He  put  down  his  palette  and  brushes  and  began  to  roll  a 
cigarette,  while  he  walked  backwards  away  from  his  easel, 
staring  alternately  at  his  canvas  and  his  model. 

"Have  you  forgotten  that  I'm  the  prospective  candidate 
for  this  constituency?  The  Home  Rule  ticket,  you  know!" 
He  looked  at  his  audience  with  a  touch  of  defiance ;  "I  don't 
know  what  you  may  think — my  notion  is " 

The  prospective  candidate  launched  forth  into  a  statement 
of  his  notions;  what,  precisely,  they  were,  is  a  matter  that 
may  here  be  omitted.  The  kaleidoscope  of  Irish  politics 
has  made  many  new  patterns  since  Larry  outlined  his  views 
for  Christian,  and  the  pattern  of  1907  interests  us  no  more. 
The  affinity  that  exists  between  politics  and  eggs  is  not 
limited  to  the  function  of  the  latter  in  emphasising  criticism 
of  the  former;  it  also  extends  to  individual  characteristics. 
The  morning  newspaper  and  the  morning  egg  should  be 
equally  recent.  Larry's  political  notions,  when  he  stated 
them,  had  at  least  the  merit  of  freshness,  and  it  shall  be  left 
to  them. 

Christian,  listening  to  his  ambitions,  felt  herself  older  than 
ever. 

*'I  think  I  should  be  a  painter  all  the  time,  and  let  Bill 
keep  the  hounds  for  me,"  she  said,  indulgently,  "and  I  cer- 
tainly should  not  play  with  politics — I'm  certain  you'd  hate 
them." 

"Well,  but  I'm  pledged,  you  know!  Tm  absolutely  in 
honour  bound  to  play  up  if  I'm  wanted " 

"Whether  you  know  the  game  or  no?"  said  Christian, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  213 

mockingly.  "Very  sporting!  I'm  not  a  Home  Ruler,  as 
it  happens.  I've  no  breadth  of  outlook!  /  haven'  been  in 
France  for  four  years!" 

"You're  a  reactionary!"  declared  Larry;  "I  tell  you  Self- 
Government  is  in  the  air!" 

With  all  her  suppleness  of  mind,  Christian  had  in  her 
something  of  the  inbred  obstinacy  of  fidelity  that  often  goes 
with  long  descent.  Her  colour  rose. 

"We  have  always  stood  for  the  King!"  she  said,  holding 
up  her  head,  and  looking  past  Larry  to  the  high,  sailing 
clouds. 

Larry  began  to  laugh. 

"Christian!  It's  awfully  becoming  to  you  to  talk  politics! 
Keep  quite  quiet  and  I'll  make  a  study  of  you  as  Britannia 
Joan  of  Arc- 


It  was  characteristic  of  these  young  people,  that  in  the 
heat  of  political  argument  they  joined  battle  as  freely  as  if 
no  other  point  of  contact  existed  for  them.  This  it  is  to  be 
born  and  bred  in  Ireland,  where  people  live  their  opinions, 
and  everyone  is  a  patriot  with  a  different  point  of  view,  and 
politics  are  a  hereditary  disease,  blatant  as  a  port-wine  mark, 
and  persistent  as  a  family  nose. 

Miss  Frederica,  with  a  guilty  remembrance  of  Lady 
Isabel's  enquiries,  had  established  her  weeding  apparatus  at 
a  bed  near  the  yew-hedge.  She  heard  the  voices  raised  in 
discussion,  and,  catching  words  here  and  there,  felt  that  if 
these  were  the  topics  that  occupied  her  charges,  Isabel  need 
not  have  inflicted  upon  her  the  abominable  nuisance  of  pokj 
ing  in  her  nose  where  it  was  not  wanted.  Thus  did  Miss 
Coppinger  summarise  the  duties  of  a  chaperon;  but  it  must 
be  remembered  that  she  had  never  been  broken  to  the  work, 
and  in  any  case  she  had  been  out  of  harness  for  four  years. 

The  luncheon  gong  sounded  to  her  across  the  Michaelmas 
daisies,  and  the  tall  scarlet  lobelias,  and  the  gorgeous  dahlias 
of  the  September  garden;  she  gathered  her  tools  together 
and  projected  a  shriek  in  the  direction  of  the  yew  hedge. 

"Children!     Lunch!" 


220  MOUNT  MUSIC 

As,  dizzy  with  stooping,  she  slowly  reared  herself  to  her 
full  height,  she  saw  a  black,  moving  blur  on  the  drive  be- 
yond the  garden.  She  rubbed  her  eyes;  the  blur  defined 
itself  as  a  man  in  priestly  black.  Not  Mr.  Fetherston,  as 
she  had  first  believed,  but  Father  Sweeny. 

"A  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing!"  thought  Frederica,  using, 
as  was  her  wont,  the  well-worn  phrase  with  guileless  zest. 
She  held  that  although  it  might  not,  primarily,  have  been 
intended  to  describe  the  Roman  Catholic  Priesthood,  its 
application  in  a  later  age  was  obvious. 

With  a  cautious  eye  on  the  wolf,  she  approached  the  yew 
hedge. 

"Larry!  Father  Sweeny's  at  the  hall  door.  You  must 
ask  him  in  to  lunch!" 

To  herself  she  thought:  "He's  Larry's  affair,  thank  good- 
ness! And  I'll  see  that  my  young  man  does  his  duty!" 

When  Frederica  spoke  of,  or  to,  her  nephew,  as  "my 
young  man,"  it  was  generally  in  connection  with  what  she 
felt  to  be  his  duty,  and  felt  also  that  it  was  her  duty  to  see 
that  his  was  not  shirked. 

Father  Tim  Sweeny,  at  lunch,  at  the  house  of  his  chief 
parishioner,  was  a  very  different  being  from  the  damaged 
and  ferocious  bull  in  hospital.  Conscious  of  his  priestly 
dignity  and  of  the  need  of  supporting  it,  but  shaken  by  the 
minor  stresses  of  the  situation,  the  senseless  multiplicity  of 
forks  and  spoons,  the  bewildering  restrictions  by  which  he 
felt  himself  to  be  webbed  about,  hampered,  mastered,  Father 
Tim  was  as  a  wild  bull  in  a  net,  and  was  even  pathetic  in 
his  unavailing  efforts  to  prove  himself  equal  to  his  surround- 
ings. He  cleared  his  throat  at  intervals,  with  an  authority 
that  seemed  to  prelude  something  more  epoch-making  than 
an  assent  to  one  of  Frederica's  industrious  platitudes;  he 
snuffled  and  fidgeted,  eating  scarcely  at  all,  and  repelling  the 
reverential  assiduities  of  the  servants  with  shattering  ab- 
ruptness. 

"Christian  saved  the  situation,"  Frederica  said,  in  sub- 
sequent conversation  with  the  Reverend  Charles  Fetherston; 


MOUNT  MUSIC  221 

"she  absolutely  'charmed  him  to  a  smile.'  She  said  after- 
wards that  the  smile  made  her  think  of  a  Druidic  stone 
circle,  slightly  imperfect  from  age!  She  always  thinks  of 
absurd  things;  but  I  was  grateful  to  her!  She  has  an 
amazing  gift  for  setting  people  at  their  ease." 

"I'm  not  sure  that  our  respected  friend  might  not  be 
more  tolerable  when  he -was  not  at  his  ease!"  said  the  Rev- 
erend Charles. 

"Larry  simply  sulked,"  continued  Miss  Coppinger;  "I'm 
afraid  Paris  life  does  not  inculcate  much  respect  for  religion." 

"Very  possibly!"  said  the  Reverend  Charles,  non-commit- 
tally.  "I  feel  for  poor  Sweeny!  He  knows  now  what 
Purgatory  is  like!" 

"I  assure  you  I  was  as  civil  as  I  knew  how  to  be," 
asserted  Frederica. 

"I'm  sure  you  were!"  said  the  Reverend  Charles,  stuffing 
a  pipe  as  he  spoke,  and  sniggering  into  the  bowl. 

Miss  Coppinger  was  justified  in  believing  that  Christian 
had  been  a  success  with  Father  Sweeny. 

"I  declare  I  could  like  that  gerr'l,  Christian  Lowry,"  he 
said  to  Father  Greer.  "She's  a  good  gerr'l  enough.  Decent! 
Civil!"  Each  adjective  of  approval  was  launched  on  a  snort 
that  indicated  some  co-existing  irritation;  "but  I  have  me 
own  opinion  of  young  Coppinger!" 

"A  good  one?"  simpered  Father  Greer. 

"The  reverrse!"  said  Father  Tim,  and  a  least  four  r's 
rang  and  rolled  in  the  word. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  portrait  of  that  civil  and  decent  girl,  Christian  Talbot- 
Lowry,  was  finished;  it  had  been  conveyed  to  Mount  Music, 
and  was  there  established  on  an  easel  in  the  billiard-room. 
The  artist  and  the  model,  having  raised  and  lowered  blinds, 
and  arranged  curtains  to  their  liking,  or  as  nearly  to  that 
unattainable  ideal  as  circumstances  permitted,  were  now  re- 
covering from  the  criticism  of  their  relations  on  the  com- 
pleted work. 

The  artist  who  works  in  the  bosom  of  his  own  family  has 
much  to  bear,  and,  so  the  family  consider,  much  to  learn. 
Neither  in  endurance,  nor  in  the  docile  assimilation  of  in- 
struction, had  Mr.  Coppinger  been  conspicuously  successful, 
and  his  model,  on  whom  had  rested  the  weighty  responsibility 
of  keeping  the  peace,  or,  at  least,  of  averting  open  warfare 
between  the  painter  and  the  critics,  was  now,  albeit  much 
spent  by  her  efforts,  engaged  in  binding  up  the  wounds  in- 
flicted on  the  former  by  the  latter. 

"If  you  hadn't  argued  with  them,  they  would  have  liked 
it  very  much;  you  took  them  the  absolutely  wrong  way! 
But  they  really  are  deeply  impressed  by  it." 

"I  don't  care  what  they  think ;  I  know  jolly  well  it's  the 
best  thing  I've  ever  done!"  said  Larry,  whose  temperature 
was  still  considerably  above  normal.  "Your  mother  is  the 
only  one  of  the  lot  with  a  soul  to  be  saved.  She  didn't 
harangue  about  what  she  doesn't  understand!  She  said: 
'It  makes  me  think  of  when  she  was  a  little  child,  and  used 
to  say  she  saw  things,  and  the  other  children  used  to  tease 
her  so  dreadfully'!" 

"Quite  true,"  said  Christian.  "So  they  did!  And  now 
they're  going  for  you!  But  you  never  teased  me,  Larry." 

222 


MOUNT  MUSIC  223 

"Thank  God,  I  didn't!"  said  Larry;  he  had  been  glower- 
ing at  his  picture,  but  as  he  spoke  he  wheeled  round,  and 
sat  down  beside  Christian  on  the  long  billiard-room  sofa. 

"Christian,  you  know "  he  began,  stammering,  and 

hesitating  in  a  way  that  was  unlike  himself. 

Christian  interrupted  him  quickly. 

"What  shall  you  call  the  picture?  I  met  Barry  Mangan 
the  other  day,  and  he  was  asking  me  all  sorts  of  questions 
about  it." 

"I  shall  call  it  'Christian,  dost  thou  hear  them?'"  said 
Larry,  telling  himself  that  the  moment  had  come.  "I  was 
feeling  that  about  you  all  the  time — I  mean  when  I  was 
painting.  Christian,  you  did  hear  them,  didn't  you?  What 
were  they  saying?  Did  they  say  anything  about  me?" 

He  caught  her  hand  and  leaned  to  her,  compelling  her 
eyes  to  meet  his;  "Let  her  see  into  my  heart!"  he  thought; 
"she  will  find  only  herself  there!" 

And  just  then  the  door  opened,  and  old  Evans  appeared. 

Larry  released  Christian's  hand,  and  went  red  with  rage 
up  to  the  roots  of  his  fair  hair.  What  he  thought  of  Evans' 
incursion  was  written  so  plainly  on  his  face,  that  Christian, 
in  that  impregnable  corner  of  her  mind  where  dwelt  her 
sense  of  humour,  felt  a  bubble  of  laughter  rise. 

"You  asked  Mrs.  Dixon,  Miss,  to  see  the  picture,"  said 
Evans,  with  a  sour  look  at  Larry.  "She's  outside  now." 

"Come  in,  Dixie,"  called  Christian,  with  a  sensation  of 
reprieve.  Suspense  had  been  trembling  in  the  air  round 
her;  it  trembled  still,  but  Dixie  would  bring  respite,  if  not 
calm. 

Mrs.  Dixon,  ceremonially  clad  in  black  silk,  sailed  up  the 
long  billiard  room,  majestic  as  a  full-rigged  ship.  Time  had 
treated  her  well;  the  increase  of  weight  that  the  years  had 
brought  had  done  little  more  than  help  to  keep  the  wrinkles 
smoothed;  her  love  for  Christian,  having  survived  the  de- 
predations of  the  larder  that  had  once  tried  it,  hadlltriumphed 
over  the  enforced  economies  that  marked  Christian's  rule 
as  housekeeper,  and  was  now  her  consolation  for  them.  To 


224  MOUNT  MUSIC 

apprehend  tke  intention  of  a  painting  is  not  given  to  all, 
and  is  a  matter  that  requires  more  experience  than  is  gen- 
erally supposed.  To  find  a  landscape  has  been  reversed  by 
the  hand  that  wields  the  duster,  so  that  the  trees  stand  on 
their  heads,  and  the  sky  is  as  the  waters  that  are  beneath 
the  firmament,  is  an  experience  that  has  been  denied  to  few 
painters,  and  Mrs.  Dixon  would  have  found  many  to 
sympathise  with  her,  as  she  stood  in  silent  stupefaction  be- 
fore the  portrait.  Larry  had  been  justified  in  his  belief  in 
it,  but  for  such  as  Mrs.  Dixon,  its  appeal  was  inappreciable. 
Christian's  face  was  in  shade,  the  brown  darkness  of  her 
loosened  hair  framed  it,  and  blended  with  the  green  darkness 
of  the  yew  hedge.  Faint  reflected  lights  from  her  white 
dress,  touches  of  sunlight  that  came  through  the  leaves  of 
the  surrounding  trees  gave  the  shadowed  face  life.  In  the 
clear  stillness  of  the  eyes,  something  had  been  caught  of  the 
wonder  that  was  latent  in  Christian's  look,  the  absorption 
in  things  far  away,  seen  inwardly,  that  in  childhood  had 
set  her  in  a  place  apart;  rarer  now,  but  still  there  for  those 
to  see  who  could  give  confidence  to  her  shy  spirit  to  forget 
the  limitations  of  this  world,  and  to  stray  forth  to  meet 
invisible  comrades  from  other  spheres.  Sometimes  it  has 
been  given  to  an  artist  to  rise,  not  by  his  conscious  volition, 
above  his  wonted  power;  to  portray  one  beloved  face  with 
the  force  of  his  emotion  rather  than  that  of  his  capacity, 
transcending  the  limits  of  his  ordinary  skill,  just  as  a  horse 
will  put  forth  his  last  ounce  of  effort  in  response  to  the 
magnetism  of  one  rider,  and  may  never  again  touch  the  same 
level  of  achievement. 

But  although  the  very  fact  that  in  this  canvas  something 
had  lifted  Larry's  art  to  greatness,  made  it  for  Mrs.  Dixon 
a  mystery  and  a  bewilderment,  she  had  no  intention  of  ad- 
mitting defeat.  After  a  moment  or  two  of  silence,  she  cast 
up  her  .eyes  in  an  appeal  to  what  seemed  to  be  a  familiar 
near  the  ceiling,  and  said  in  impassioned  tones: 

"Well,  well,  isn't  that  lovely?" 

The  familiar  apparently  confirmed  the  opinion,  for  she 


MOUNT  MUSIC  225 

repeated,  with  a  long  sigh:  "Wonderful  altogether!  I  could 
be  looking  at  it  all  day!"  She  turned  to  Christian  with 
profound  deference.  "And  what  might  it  be  intended  to 
represent,  Miss?" 

Larry,  who  had  picked  up  a  cue,  and  was  knocking  the 
balls  about,  gave  a  ahort  and  nettled  laugh. 

"Oh,  Dixie!"  said  Christian,  suffering  equally  with  artist 
and  critic,  "don't  you  see,  it's  a  picture  of  me!" 

Mrs.  Dixon  took  the  blow  gallantly. 

"Well,  wasn't  I  the  finished  fool  to  forget  my  specs!  I 
that  couldn't  see  the  harp  on  a  ha'penny  without  them!" 

"Don't  worry,  Dixie,"  said  Larry,  smacking  a  ball  into  a 
pocket;  "I'm  not  surprised  you  didn't  recognise  it — it's  not 
half  good  enough." 

"Master  Larry,  my  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Dixon,  whose 
social  perceptions  were  more  acute  than  her  artistic  ones, 
"I'll  go  bail  there  isn't  one  could  take  Miss  Christian's  pic- 
ture the  way  you  could,  you  that  was  always  her  companion!" 
She  moved  away  from  the  easel,  and  murmuring;  "and, 
please  God,  always  will  be!"  she  rustled  away  down  the 
long  room.  Mrs.  Dixon,  indomitable  Protestant  though  she 
was,  did  not  share  Evans'  opinion  of  Larry. 

Larry  threw  down  the  cue  and  opened  the  high  French 
window  into  the  garden  at  the  back  of  the  house. 

"Christian,  for  heaven's  sake  come  out!  I  can't  stand 
this  stinking  room  any  longer!  I  feel  as  if  all  the  im- 
becilities that  I've  had  to  endure  this  afternoon  were  hanging 
in  a  cloud  over  the  billiard  tale.  Come  up  to  the  old  stone 
on  the  hill,  and  have  some  fresh  air." 

He  stepped  out  into  the  garden,  and  Christian  followed 
him,  smiling  within  herself  at  his  impatience,  the  absurd 
impatience  that  she  loved  because  it  was  his.  It  wouldn't 
be  Larry  if  he  suffered  fools,  or  anything  else  that  he  dis- 
liked, gladly  or  peaceably.  The  feeling  that  she  was  im- 
measurably older  than  he  was  was  always  at  its  most  con- 
"incing  when  his  painting  was  in  question;  even  she  could 


226  MOUNT  MUSIC 

not  quite  realise  what  it  meant  to  him  to  have  rude  hands 
laid  upon  the  child  of  his  soul. 

The  garden  was  dank  and  heavy  with  overgrown,  dying 
things,  as  ill-cared-for  gardens  are  wont  to  be  at  the  end  of 
September,  but  the  tall  bush  of  sweet-scented  verbena,  that 
grew  by  the  door  in  the  south  wall,  was  still  as  green  and 
sweet  as  in  high  summer.  Christian  broke  off  some  spray? 
and  drew  them  through  her  hands  before  she  put  one  into 
the  front  of  her  shirt. 

"Here,  Larry,"  she  said,  giving  him  one,  "this  will  help 
you  to  forget  the  billiard  room!" 

Larry  gave  her  a  long  look  as  he  took  it;  "I  don't  al- 
together want  to  forget  it,"  he  said.  "I  daresay  good  old 
Dixie  was  a  useful  discipline." 

Had  Christian  heard  Mrs.  Dixon's  final  aspiration  she 
would  have  realised  that  with  it  Dixie  had  covered  her  failure 
as  an  art  critic. 

Outside  the  garden  was  a  wide  belt  of  fir  trees,  and  beyond 
and  above  the  trees,  stretched  the  great  hill,  Cnochan  an 
Ceoil  Sidhe,  the  Hill  of  Fairy  Music,  that  gave  its  name 
to  the  house  and  demesne.  Christian  and  Larry  passed 
through  the  shadowy  grove,  walking  side  by  side  along  the 
narrow  track,  their  footsteps  made  noiseless  by  its  thick 
covering  of  pine  needles.  It  was  dark  in  the  wood;  the  fir 
trees  towered  in  gloom  above  them;  here  and  there  in  the 
deep  of  the  branches  there  was  the  stir  of  a  wing,  as  a  pigeon 
settled  to  its  nest ;  from  beyond  the  wood  came  a  brief,  shrill 
bicker  of  starlings;  all  things  beside  these  were  mute,  and 
in  the  silent  dusk,  spirit  was  sensitive  to  spirit,  and  the  air 
was  tense  with  the  unspoken  word. 

The  sun  was  low  in  the  west  when  they  came  out  on  to 
the  open  hillside,  and  went  on  up  the  path,  through  the 
heather,  that  led  to  the  Druid  stone  beside  the  Tober  an 
Sidhe,  the  fairies'  well.  The  mist,  golden  and  green,  that 
comes  with  an  autumn  sunset,  half  hid,  half  transfigured 
the  wide  distances  of  the  valley  of  the  Broadwater ;  the  dark- 
ness of  the  woods,  blended  from  this  aspect  into  one,  of 


MOUNT  MUSIC  227 

Mount  Music  and  Coppinger's  Court,  was  softened  by  its 
veils ;  the  far  hills  were  transparent,  as  if  the  light  had  fused 
them  to  clearest  brown,  and  topaz,  and  opal  glass.  The 
hill  side,  above  and  beneath  them,  glowed  and  smouldered 
with  the  ruby-purple  of  heather. 

Christian  and  Larry  stood  in  the  path  beside  the  ancient 
stone  and  looked  out  over  the  valley;  the  vastness  and  the 
glory  of  the  great  prospect  whelmed  them  like  a  flood,  the 
sense  of  imminence  that  was  over  them  strung  their  nerves 
to  vibrating  and  held  them  silent. 

"My  God!"  sighed  Larry,  at  last,  trembling,  turning  to 
her  who  had  never  failed  to  understand  him,  "Christian! 
it's  too  beautiful — the  world  is  too  big — I  can't  bear  it 

alone "  He  caught  her  arm.  "You've  got  to  help  me. 

Oh  Christian! " 

Christian  turned  her  face  from  him. 

"I  believe  I  could,"  she  said  in  a  very  low*  voice. 

Even  as  she  spoke,  the  truth  broke  out  of  her  soul  and 
ran  through  her,  running-  from  her  soul  to  his,  like  the  flame 
of  oil  spilled  upon  clear  water.  A  voice  cried  a  warning  in 
her  heart.  "Too  late!"  she  answered  it  with  triumph. 

"Darling!"  said  Larry,  holding  her  close. 

*  #  #  *  *  * 

The  sunset 

"bloomed  and  withered  on  the  hill 
Like  any  hill-flower"; 

but  long  those  two  stood  by  the  Druid  stone,  knowing,  per- 
haps, the  best  moment  that  life  could  give  them,  facing  the 
dying  radiance  with  hearts  that  were  full  of  sunrise. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

DOCTOR  FRANCIS  MANGAN,  driving  his  car  at  something 
even  more  than  his  usual  high  rate  of  speed,  to  the  Parochial 
House,  a  mile  or  so  from  the  town  of  Cluhir,  what  time  the 
sun's  last  rays  were  falling  upon  the  Druid  stone  on  Cnochan 
an  Ceoil  Sidhe,  would  have  been  far  from  pleased  had  he 
seen  what  the  sun  then  saw.  On  their  knees  by  the  Tobcr 
an  Sidhe,  Larry  and  Christian  were  looking  into  the  tiny 
cave  in  which  the  fairy  water  rose,  and  were  giving  each 
to  each  their  plighting  word,  the  old  word  that  they  had 
known  since  they  were^children : 

"While  water  stands  in  Tubber  an  shee, 
My  heart  in  your  hands,  your  heart  in  me," 

and,  observing  scrupulously  the  prescribed  rite,  were  drink- 
ing a  mouthful  of  the  water,  each  from  the  other's  hand. 

Dr.  Mangan  would  probably  have  said  that  it  was  all 
children's  nonsense,  and  that  it  was  easier  to  break  a  promise 
than  to  keep  it,  but  it  may  be  asserted  with  tolerable  cer- 
tainty that  he  would  not  have  been  pleased. 

He  was  a  strong  and  able  driver,  and  his  big  car  whirled 
up  Father  Greer's  neat  and  narrow  drive,  holding  unde- 
viatingly  the  crown  of  the  high-cambered  track,  and  stopped 
dead  at  the  front  door  of  the  Parochial  House. 

That  Spirit  of  the  Nation  to  whom  allusion  has  occasion- 
ally been  made  in  these  pages,  was  by  now  well  accustomed 
to  the  discouragement  that  she  had  ever  received  from  the 
two  young  lovers  whose  betrothal  she  had  been  powerless 
to  forbid.  She  had  fled  from  the  benign  fairy  influences 

228 


MOUNT  MUSIC  229 

of  the  Tober  an  Sidhe;  but  now,  full  of  hope,  she  was 
hovering  with  wide-spread  wings  over  the  Parochial  House, 
and,  as  its  door  was  opened  by  Father  Greer's  elderly  and 
ugly  housekeeper,  the  Spirit  folded  her  wings  and  slipped 
past  her,  as  by  a  familiar  path,  into  the  priest's  sitting-room. 

Father  Greer  was  "inside,"  the  elderly  and  ugly  house- 
keeper said;  "would  the  Doctor  sit  in  the  parlour  a  minute 
and  he'd  come  down?" 

The  Doctor  "sat"  as  requested,  in  the  parlour,  noting, 
as  he  had  often  noted  before,  its  arid  asceticism,  wondering 
how  any  man  could  stand  the  life  of  a  priest,  respecting  the 
power  that  could  enable  a  man  to  dispense  with  all  the  things 
that,  in  his  opinion — which,  by  the  way,  he  pronounced 
"oping-en" — made  life  worth  living. 

Father  Greer  came  imperceptibly  into  the  room  while  the 
Doctor  was  still  pondering  upon  the  hardness  of  the  black 
horsehair-covered  armchair  in  which  he  was  seated. 

"Why,  Doctor,  this  is  an  unexpected  pleasure!  I  heard 
you  were  away,"  the  priest  said,  laying  a  limp  hand  in  the 
Doctor's  big  fist. 

"So  I  was  too.  I  was  summoned  to  a  consultation. 
That's  what  I'm  come  to  you  about,  Father.  It's  old 
Prendergast.  I'm  thinking  he  won't  last  much  longer." 

"D'ye  mean  Daniel?    The  Member?" 

"I  do." 

Father  Greer  took  his  thin  nose,  with  the  nostrils  edged 
with  red,  between  his  finger  and  thumb,  and  pinched  it 
slowly  downwards  several  times. 

"Well,  what  then?"  he  said  at  length. 

"That's  the  point,"  said  the  Big  Doctor,  looking  at  the 
priest's  pale  and  bumpy  forehead,  and  trying  in  vain  to  catch 
his  eye.  "You  know  that  young  Coppinger's  name  was 
sent  up  by  our  local  Committee  four  years  ago,  and  the 
Party  approved  it." 

"I  wonder  were  they  in  the  right!"  said  Father  Greer, 
still  pinching  his  nose,  and  looking  up  at  the  Doctor  over 
his  knuckles. 


230  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"I  don't  see  who  we  could  find  that'd  do  better,"  said 
Dr.  Mangan,  apologetically.  "He's  well  off,  and  he  holds 
strong  Nationalist  oping-ens;  and  then,  of  course,  he's  a 
Catholic." 

"I'm  told  he  didn't  go  to  Mass  since  he  came  home"; 
Father  Greer  let  the  statement  fall  without  expression. 

"Ah  well,  he's  only  just  back  from  France.  Give  him  a 
little  time,  and  he'll  come  to  himself,"  said  the  Doctor,  still 
apologetic. 

"I  understand  he's  been  painting  Miss  Christian  Talbot- 
Lowry's  portrait,"  pursued  Father  Greer,  with  limpid  sim- 
plicity. "I'm  told  she's  as  pretty  a  young  girl  as  there  is 
in  this  neighbourhood." 

Whether  this  slight  prod  of  the  mahout's  ankus  was,  or 
was  not,  intentional,  it  is  not  easy  to  say,  but  it  took  instant 
effect  upon  the  Big  Doctor. 

"There  are  other  pretty  young  girls  in  the  neighbourhood 
besides  Christian  Lowry,"  he  said  sharply.  "And  maybe 
prettier!  I  don't  think  it  would  give  us  much  trouble  to 
find  one  that  Larry  Coppinger  would  be  well  satisfied  with, 
and  one  that's  in  the  bosom  of  the  Church,  too!" 

"I  greatly  -^lore  mixed  marriages,"  said  Father  Greer; 
permitting  his  eyes  to  meet  those  of  Dr.  Mangan.  "I  had 
hoped  that  in  the  case  of  this  young  man  beneficial  influences 
might  have  been  brought  to  bear " 

"If  you  want  to  put  a  spoke  in  that  wheel,"  interrupted 
the  Doctor  with  eagerness,  "you'll  support  his  nomination. 
I'll  undertake  to  say  there  won't  be  much  talk  of  mixed 
marriages  then!" 

Father  Greer's  small  eyes  again  rested  for  a  second  on  the 
Doctor's  broad  face,  with  its  strong,  overhanging  brows 
and  heavy  under-jaw,  and  drew  his  own  conclusions  from 
the  confident  smile  that  showed  the  white  teeth  under  the 
drooping,  black  moustache  that  had  still  scarcely  a  grey  hair 
in  it. 

"I  was  thinking  that  might  be  what  he  was  after!"  thought 
Father  Greer.  "Well,  he's  a  good  warrant  to  play  his  hand 


MOUNT  MUSIC  231 

well,  and  more  unsuitable  things  have  occurred  before  now. 

Vet,  didn't  I  hear  something !"  Even  in  thought  Father 

Greer  observed  a  studied  mildness  and  moderation,  and  there 
were  contingencies  which  might  remain  uaformulated  until 
they  crystallised  into  certainty. 

"I'll  think  it  over,  Doctor,"  he  said.  "I'm  inclined  to 
your  view»of  the  case,  and  I  might  be  disposed  to  advocate 
the  candidature  of  your  nominee.  But," — here  Father  Greer 
sniffed  several  times,  indicating  that  a  humorous  aspect  of 
the.  case  had  occurred  to  him,  "what  will  we  do  if  he  turns 
'sour-face,'  as  they  say,  on  us?" 

This  euphuism,  which  had  been  adopted  by  some  of  the 
more  extreme  of  the  Nationalist  party  to  indicate  members 
of  the  opposing  communion,  was  received  by  Dr.  Mangan 
as  an  apt  and  entertaining  quotation  on  the  part  of  his  clergy- 
man. 

"No  fear,  no  fear!"  he  said,  laughing  jovially,  "but  if 
you'll  allow  me  to  say  so,  I  think  a  good  deal  depends  on 
this  business  going  through." 

The  Spirit  of  the  Nation  smiled  also;  it  was  evident  to 
her  that  these  ministers  of  hers  were  conscientiously  intent 
on  doing  her  pleasure,  and,  leaving  them  with  confidence, 
she  spread  her  wide  wings  and  followed  the  broad  stream  of 
the  river  down  the  valley  in  the  direction  of  Mount  Music. 

Dr.  Mangan  drove  home  as  swiftly  and  capably  as  was 
his  wont.  It  had  been  fair-day  in  Cluhir,  and  the  people 
from  the  country  were  slowly  and  reluctantly  forsaking  the 
enjoyments  of  the  town.  Large  women  piled  voluminously 
on  small  carts,  each  with  a  conducting  little  boy  and  a 
labouring  little  donkey  somewhere  beneath  her;  men  in  de- 
cent blue  cloth  garments,  whose  innate  respectability  must 
have  suffered  acutely  from  the  erratic  conduct  of  the  limbs 
inside  them;  wandering  knots  of  cattle,  remotely  attended 
by  the  wearers  of  blue  cloth  aforesaid;  horses  carting  them- 
selves and  their  owners  home,  with  entire  self-control  and 
good  sense ;  and,  anchored  in  the  tide  of  traffic,  the  ubiquitous 
beggar-women,  their  filthy  hands  proffering  matches,  green 


232  MOUNT  MUSIC 

apples,  bootlaces,  their  strident  tongues  mastering  the  noise* 
of  the  street,  their  rapacious,  humorous  eyes  observant  of 
all  things.  All  these  did  Dr.  Mangan  encounter  and  cir- 
cumvent, frustrating  their  apparent  determination  to  commit 
suicide  by  those  diverse  methods  of  abuse,  cajolery,  and,  on 
the  part  of  the  car,  mechanical  activity,  that  formed  an  im- 
portant part  of  the  necessary  equipment  of  an  Irish  motorist 
of  the  earlier  time.  Nevertheless,  the  more  intimate  portion 
of  his  brain  was  deeply  engaged  in  those  labyrinths  of  minor 
provincial  intrigue  in  which  so  many  able  intellects  spend 
themselves,  for  want  of  wider  opportunity. 

Mrs.  Mangan  was  in  the  kitchen,  where,  indeed,  she  was 
not  infrequently  to  be  found,  when  the  Doctor  came  in  by 
the  back-door  from  the  yard. 

"I  want  you,  Annie,"  he  said,  shouldering  his  enormous 
bulk  along  the  narrow  passage,  and  treading  heavily  on  the 
cat,  who,  her  mystic  meditations  thus  painfully  interrupted, 
vanished  in  darkness,  uttering  the  baleful  cry  of  her  kind, 
that  is  so  inherently  opposed  to  the  blended  forgiveness  and 
apology  that  give  poignancy  to  a  dog's  reproach  for  a  similar 
injury. 

"Look  here,  Annie.  Before  I  forget  it,  I  want  you  to 
take  the  car  on  Saturday — I'll  want  it  myself  to-morrow — 
and  call  upon  Miss  Coppinger.  Barty  can  drive  you.  I  got 
a  wire  awhile  ago,  and  I  have  to  go  on  the  nine  o'clock 
to-night  to  Broadhaven.  It's  that  unfortunate  Prendergast 
the  Member.  There's  nothing  can  be  done  for  the  poor 
fellow,  but  whether  or  no,  I  must  go." 

"They'll  not  be  satisfied  till  they  have  you  dead,  too, 
dragging  at  you!"  protested  Mrs.  Mangan.  "What  non- 
sense they  have,  and  you  there  only  this  morning!  On 
earth,  what  can  you  do  more  for  him?" 

"They  think  more  of  me,  my  dear,  than  you  do!"  said 
the  Doctor,  cheerfully.  "Be  listening,  now,  to  what  I'm 
saying.  You're  to  be  as  civil  as  be  damned  to  old  Frederica, 
and  tell  Barty  he's  to  fix  up  with  Larry  to  come  here — what 


MOUNT  MUSIC  233 

day  is  this  to-day  is?  Thursday? — Tell  him  I'll  be  in  on 
Sunday  afternoon,  and  I  want  to  talk  to  him  on  very  special 
business.  Now,  will  you  remember  that?" 

He  repeated  his  commands,  as  people  will  who  have  learnt, 
as  most  Doctors  must  learn,  the  fallibility  of  the  human 
memory  and  its  infinite  powers  of  invention  and  substitution. 

Mrs.  Mangan  listened  obediently  and  promised  attention. 
Although  in  matters  to  which  she  attached  slight  importance, 
such  as  the  proportions  of  a  prescription,  her  memory  was 
liable  to  betray  her,  in  other  affairs,  it  had  the  cast-iron 
accuracy  of  the  peasant,  and  without  having  been  privileged 
with  the  Doctor's  full  confidence,  she  was  probably  deeper 
in  it  than  he  was  aware. 

While  still  these  intentions  with  regard  to  young  Mr.  St. 
Lawrence  Coppinger  were  whirling  in  the  air  above  him, 
as  a  lasso  swirls  and  circles  before  it  secures  its  victim,  that 
young  man  was,  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say,  staggering  home 
under  the  weight  of  his  happiness.  After  the  sacrament  at 
the  Tober  an  Sidhe  he  and  Christian  had  gone  from  the 
hill,  hand  in  hand,  like  two  children.  In  silence  they  had 
gone  through  the  dark  wood,  and  almost  in  silence  had  made 
their  mutual  farewells  in  the  fragrant  shadow  of  the  pines. 

When  the  soul  is  tuned  to  its  highest  it  cannot  find  an 
interpreter.  The  lips  can  utter  only  broken  sounds,  patheti- 
cally inadequate  to  express  emotions  that  may,  in  some  future 
sphere,  make  themselves  known  in  terms  other  than  are 
permitted  to  us.  There  is  an  inner  radiance  that  is  beyond 
thought,  that  might  conceivably  utter  itself  in  music  or  in 
colour,  but  that  can  no  more  be  translated  into  words  than 
can  the  radiance  of  the  mid-day  sun  be  more  than  indicated 
by  earthly  painters  with  earthly  pigments. 

So  it  was  with  Larry  and  Christian.  It  chances  now  and 
then  on  this  old,  and  prosaic,  and  often  tearful  earth  that 
some  kindly  spirit  leaves  the  door  of  Paradise  a  little  open, 
and  two  happy  people — though  sometimes  it  is  only  one — 
are  caught  inside  for  a  time,  and  come  out,  as  Larry  did, 


234  MOUNT  MUSIC 

bewildered,  dazzled,  wandering  back  to  earth,  he  scarcely 
knew  how,  saying,  drunkenly,  to  himself: 

"Good  Lord!     She  is  so  bright  to-night!" 
as  the  blackbird  said,  who  was  "blowing  his  bugle  fo  one  far 
bright  star." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

OLD,  prosaic,  and  often  tearful,  though  this  earth  may  be, 
few  are  anxious  to  hasten  their  departure  from  it,  and  Daniel 
Prendergast,  Esq.,  M.P.,  abetted  by  the  ministrations  of  that 
able  consultant,  Dr.  Mangan,  "hung  on,"  as  his  friends  put 
it,  with  unexpected  tenacity  to  his  share  of  the  world.  And, 
so  far  reaching  are  the  etheric  cords  that  are  said  to  bind 
us  all  together,  Mr.  Prendergast's  grip  of  his  sorry  and 
suffering  life  bestowed  upon  Larry  and  Christian  three  days 
to  be  spent  within  the  confines  of  Paradise. 

This  may  seem  an  over-statement  when  it  is  recorded  that 
their  next  meeting  was  at  7  a.m.  at  a  cubbing  meet  of  the 
hounds,  which  occurred  on  the  morning  following  on  Larry's 
discovery  that  the  entree  to  Paradise  had  been  his  for  the 
asking;  it  is,  however,  no  more  than  the  truth.  Christian 
had  exacted  a  promise  from  him  that  no  word  was  to  be  said 
to  any  other  of  the  high  contracting  parties  until  Monday, 
and,  as  they  rode  in  at  the  Castle  Ire  gates,  the  matter  was 
still  under  debate. 

"Three  days  we  must  have,  just  three,  with  this  secret 
hidden  between  us  like  a  pearl  in  an  oyster-shell!  Larry, 
you  know  /  can  keep  a  secret!" 

"And  you  think  I  can't!"  said  Larry,  affronted. 

"I  don't  think,  I  know  it!  But  you  must  try!  Don't 

forget  I've  got  to  week-end  at  the "  she  named  people 

who  lived  in  the  next  county.  "No  one  shall  be  told  until 
I  come  home!" 

This  was  when  they  were  riding  to  the  meet.  Larry  had 
brought  over  Joker,  the  bay  horse,  for  her  and  he  was  himself 
riding  a  small  grey  four-year-old  mare,  on  whose  education 

235 


236  MOUNT  MUSIC 

as  a  hunter  he  was  entering.  It  was  one  of  those  gorgeous 
mornings  of  late  September,  when  everything  is  intense  in 
colour  and  in  sentiment.  A  light  white  frost  was  melting, 
in  the  first  rays  of  the  sun,  to  a  silver  dew,  that  twinkled 
on  grass  and  bush  and  twig.  Now  and  then  a  beech  leaf, 
prematurely  gold,  came  spinning  down  in  the  still  air;  from 
high  places  of  heaven  a  tiny  gabble  of  music,  cold,  and  shrill, 
and  sweet,  told  of  the  songs  of  the  larks  at  those  heavenly 
gates  within  which  Larry's  and  Christian's  spirits  were 
dwelling. 

"Yes!"  Christian  repeated,  as  they  rode  tranquilly  along 
on  the  grass  beside  one  of  the  long  Castle  Ire  avenues,  "it 
shall  remain  a  secret  as  long  as  possible,  unprofaned  by  the 
vulgar!  It's  like  this  morning;  the  dew's  on  it  still.  Larry, 
you've  got  to  try!" 

"Got  to  try,  have  I?"  said  Larry,  beaming  at  her 
fatuously. 

The  horses  were  sidling  close  to  one  another  after  the 
manner  of  stable  companions;  Larry  put  his  hand  on  the 
bay  horse's  withers  and  gazed  into  Christian's  laughing  eyes, 
while  the  blue  of  the  southern  Irish  sky  uttered  its  strong, 
splendid  note  of  colour  behind  the  pale  rose  of  her  face,  and 
the  ineffable  freshness  of  the  morning  thrilled  in  him. 

"If  you  look  at  me  like  that  in  general  society,"  he  de- 
clared, "I  shall  either  give  it  away  on  the  spot — or  burst! 
Look  here,  here's  the  measured-mile  gallop;  I'll  race  you  to 
the  hall  door!  If  I  get  in  first,  I  shall  tell  everyone  we're 
engaged !" 

"Done!"  said  Christian,  instantly  shortening  her  reins; 
"but  I  back  Joker!" 

She  touched  Joker  with  her  heel  and  the  big  horse  sprang, 
at  the  hint,  into  a  gallop.  Quickly  as  he  started,  Rayleen, 
the  grey  mare  (whose  name,  being  interpreted,  is  Little 
Star),  being  ever  concentrated  for  instant  effort,  as  is  the 
manner  of  small  and  well-bred  four-year-olds,  was  up  to 
his  shoulder  in  a  couple  of  bounds,  even  in  the  flame  of  her 
youth  and  enthusiasm,  she  drove  ahead  of  Joker's  ordered 


MOUNT  MUSIC  237 

strides,  and  led  him  for  awhile.  Larry's  laugh  of  triumph, 
that  the  wind  tossed  back  to  her,  was  not  needed  to  rouse 
Christian  to  emulation.  Any  hint  of  a  race,  any  touch  of  a 
contest,  appealed  to  her  as  instantly  as  to  Rayleen,  and  she 
was  racing  for  that  secret  that  was  like  a  pearl.  Sitting  very 
still  she  touched  Joker  again  with  her  heel  and  spoke  to  him. 
There  was  in  her  the  magnetism  that  can  fire  a  horse  to  his 
best,  by  some  mystery,  compound  of  sympathy  and  stimulation, 
that  has  no  outward  manifestation.  Joker's  great  shoulders 
worked  under  her  as  he  lengthened  and  quickened  his  beauti- 
ful, rhythmic  stride.  The  wind  of  the  pace  whistled  in  her 
ears  and  snatched  at  her  hair.  She  crammed  her  hat  over 
her  forehead,  laughing  with  the  joy  of  battle.  She  was  level 
with  Larry  now.  Now  she  was  passing  him,  and  the  little 
grey  strove  in  vain  to  hold  her  place.  Gallant  as  she  was, 
what  could  she  do  aaginst  a  raking,  trained  galloper,  well 
over  sixteen  hands,  and  nearly  thoroughbred? 

The  smooth  mile  of  shining  grass  was  annihilated,  wiped 
out  in  a  few  whirling  minutes.  Joker  had  but  just  fairly 
settled  down  to  go  when  the  end  of  the  race  was  at  hand. 
Had  he  been  a  shade  less  of  a  gentleman  than  he 
was,  Christian,  and  the  snaffle  in  which  she  was  riding 
him,  would  hardly  have  stopped  him,  as  did  their  joint 
efforts,  on  the  gravel  in  front  of  the  goal  that  Larry  had 
given  her. 

Hunts  come,  and  hunts  go,  and  are  forgotten.  Horses, 
the  best  and  dearest  of  them,  fade,  in  some  degree,  from 
remembrance ;  where  are  the  snows  of  yester  year,  and  where 
the  great  gallops  that  we  rode  when  we  were  young?  But 
here  and  there  something  defies  the  mists  of  memory,  and 
remains,  bright  and  imperishable  as  a  diamond.  I  believe 
that  for  Christian  that  mile  of  sun  and  wind  and  speed  and 
flight,  with  her  lover  thundering  at  her  heels,  will  remain 
ever  vivid,  one  of  the  moments  that  are  of  the  incalculable 
bounty  of  Chance;  moments  that  earth  can  never  equal, 
nor  Heaven  better. 

The  hounds  and  staff  were  waiting  at  the  farther  end  of 


238  MOUNT  MUSIC 

the  long  front  of  Castle  Ire,  when  Larry  and  Christian  made 
their  somewhat  sensational  entrance  upon  the  scene. 

"Joker  wins,  by  a  length  and  a  half,"  said  Bill  Kirby, 
judicially,  "and  a  very  pretty  race.  I  never  saw  a  prettier, 
on  any  sands,  on  any  jackasses,  on  any  Bank  Holiday!  I 
suppose  this  is  how  people  always  fetch  up  at  meets  in 
France?  It's  not  come  in  in  this  benighted  country  yet." 

"His  fault!"  said  Christian,  breathless  and  glowing.  "He 
dar'd  me!  Where  are  you  going  to  draw?" 

"The  ash-pit  and  the  fowl-houses,"  replied  Bill,  picking 
up  his  reins.  "Then  the  backstairs,  and  the  kitchenmaid's 
bedroom.  Judith  and  Mrs.  Brady  say  he's  taking  all  the 
fowl,  and  they're  going  to  lay  poison — I  don't  mean  the 
fowl " 

"Isn't  he  bright  this  morning?"  said  Judith,  looking  down 
upon  the  party  from  an  upper  window,  effectively  arrayed 
in  one  of  those  lacy  and  lazy  garments  that  invite,  while  they 
repudiate,  society.  "No,  I'm  not  coming  out.  Too  early 
for  me.  Come  in  and  eat  something — breakfast  or  lunch, 
anything — when  you've  done  enough." 

The  hounds  moved  on  and  were  soon  busy  in  the  screens 
of  glossy  laurel  round  the  house.  Other  riders  arrived.  A 
fox  was  found,  if  not  in  the  kitchenmaid's  bedroom  in  some 
spot  of  almost  equal  intimacy,  and  the  Hunt  surged  in  and 
through  yards,  and  haggards,  outhouses,  and  gardens,  the 
hounds  over-running  all  the  complicated  surroundings  of  an 
Irish  country-house,  while  every  grade  of  domestic,  forsaking 
his  or  her  lawful  occupation,  joined  in  the  chase. 

Christian  had  betaken  herself  to  a  point  on  the  avenue 
remote  from  the  fray.  A  run,  she  told  herself,  would  have 
tranquilised  her,  and  made  things  seem  more  normal,  but 
there  was  no  prospect  of  one.  "I'll  wait  till  this  rat-hunt  is 
over,"  she  thought,  letting  Joker  stroll  across  the  park  to- 
wards a  little  lake,  shining  amidst  bracken  and  bushes,  a 
jewel  dropped  from  heaven.  A  couple  of  stiff-necked  swans 
floated  in  motionless  trance  upon  it ;  black  water-hens  flapped 
in  flashing,  splashing  flight  to  safety  as  Christian  came  near; 


MOUNT  MUSIC  239 

ft  string  of  patchwork  coloured  mandarin-ducks  propelled 
themselves  in  jerks  towards  her,  confident  that  any  human 
being  meant  food.  Two  gigantic  turquoise  dragon-flies  rose, 
with  a  dry  crackle  of  talc-like  wings,  from  a  dead  log  under 
Joker's  feet.  One  of  them  swung  round  the  horse's  head, 
and  lit  on  his  shaven  neck.  It  brooded  there,  apparently 
unperceptive  of  the  difference  of  this  resting  place  from  the 
one  that  it  had  abandoned;  its  dull  globes  of  eyes  looked 
as  if  sight  was  the  last  purpose  for  which  they  were  intended. 
Joker  stretched  his  long  neck  to  nibble  a  willow  twig,  and 
the  blue  mystery,  rising,  remained  poised  over  him  for  an- 
other moment  of  meditation,  before  it  sailed  away,  sideways, 
on  its  own  obscure  occasions. 

Christian  sat  in  the  sunshine,  and  thought  about  Larry, 
and  wondered.  She  knew  now  that  what  she  felt  for  him 
was  no  new  thing.  It  had  been  with  her  always,  not  merely 
since  the  painting  of  her  portrait,  but  always,  unacknowl- 
edged yet  implicit,  ever  since  that  first  day  when  he  had 
rescued  her  from  Richard.  Her  intensely  criticising,  analytic 
brain  refused  to  surrender  to  vague  emotion.  She  was  re- 
solved to  understand  herself,  to  rationalise  her  overthrow. 
It  was  the  difference,  for  which  that  half-hour  of  sunset  was 
responsible,  in  the  degree  of  what  she  felt,  that  bewildered 
her.  Yesterday,  she  told  herself,  it  was  a  Jeep,  but  well- 
controlled  and  respectable  little  stream.  To-day  .;  was  a 
flood.  "I  must  keep  my  feet,"  she  thought;  "I  must  not 
be  swept  away!"  The  thought  of  him  was  sometimes  over- 
whelming, like  the  fire  of  a  summer  noon ;  sometimes  medita- 
tive, and  wound  about  with  memories,  like  twilight,  and 
the  song  of  the  thrush;  even  at  its  least,  it  had  been  the 
glow  that  lives  behind  the  northern  horizon  in  midsummer, 
witnessing  to  the  hidden  glory,  during  darkness,  or  the  wist- 
ful glimmer  of  stars.  Now,  while  the  sun  went  higher,  and 
all  the  hum  of  life  rose,  and  the  cries  of  the  water-birds, 
the  buzz  of  insects  over  the  bright  lake,  became  more  in- 
sistent, and  the  blue  and  lovely  morning  spread  and  strength- 
ened round  her,  criticism  and  analysis  failed.  She  could 


240  MOUNT  MUSIC 

only  think  of  him,  helplessly,  saying  to  herself  what  she  had 
once  heard  a  peasant  woman  say:  "My  heart'd  open  when 
I  thinks  of  him." 

Across  the  park  came  repeated  notes  from  the  horn,  the 
baying  of  hounds,  and  the  screams  that  celebrate  with  ortho- 
dox excitement  the  death  of  a  fox.  The  rat-hunt  was  over. 
Joker  lifted  his  spare,  aristocratic  head  from  the  grass,  and 
listened,  with  a  wisp  of  dewy  green  stuff  in  his  mouth. 
Christian  looked  at  her  watch.  It  was  early  still,  not  eight 
o'clock.  A  grey  horse  and  its  rider  came  forth  from  the 
dark  grove  of  laurels.  Larry  was  looking  for  her.  She 
sighed;  she  did  not  know  why.  She  thought  of  the  old 
Mendelssohn  open-air  part-song: 

"The  talk  of  the  lovers  in  silence  dies, 
They  weep,  yet  they  know  not  why  tears  fill  their  eyes." 

The  old,  absurd  words,  that  she  had  so  often  laughed  at. 
She  laughed  again,  but  at  herself,  and  sat  still,  watching  the 
grey  mare  coming  lightly  over  the  sunny  grass  to  her. 

"They  got  him!"  Larry  shouted,  as  he  came  near.  "The 
brute  wouldn't  run  for  'em!  Too  full  of  hen,  I  suppose! 
They're  going  on  now  to  the  gorse  in  the  high  paddock. 
Why  did  you  come  away  here?" 

"Because  I'm  illogical.  I  like  hunting,  and  I  hate  catch- 
ing what  I  hunt.  Besides,  I  wanted  to  think." 

"Rotten  habit,"  said  Larry.  "I  won't  have  you  changing 
5rour  mind!" 

Christian  looked  at  him,  and  sighed  again.  He  was  on 
her  right,  and  she  took  her  hunting-crop  in  her  left  hand, 
with  the  reins,  and  stretched  out  her  right  hand  to  him. 
He  caught  it,  and  kissed  her  slender  wrist  above  the  glove. 
There  came  back  to  Christian,  with  a  rush,  the  remembrance 
of  the  May  morning  at  the  kennels  when  he  had  kissed  her 
wrist.  That  had  been  the  left  wrist.  The  kiss  had  meant 
more  to  her  than  it  had  to  him.  Now,  as  she  met  his  eyes 
she  knew  that  she  and  he  stood  on  level  ground. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  241 

Who  breaks  a  butterfly  upon  a  wheel?  Those  even,  who 
pin  it  down,  and  set  it  up  in  a  glass  case  in  the  cause  of 
science  and  for  the  edification  of  an  inquisitive  public,  are 
not  wholly  to  be  commended,  praiseworthy  though  their 
intentions  may  be.  Let  a  rule  of  silence,  therefore  be  ob- 
served, as  far  as  may  be.  What  this  boy  and  girl  said  to 
each  other,  is  their  secret,  not  ours. 

The  gorse  in  the  high  paddock  held  a  fox;  several,  in 
fact,  a  lady  having  reared  a  fine  young  family  there  without 
any  anxieties  as  to  their  support,  thanks  to  the  votive  offer- 
ings of  crows  and  rabbits,  obsequiously  laid  on  her  doorstep, 
by  her  best  friend,  and  her  most  implacable  enemy,  Mr. 
William  Kirby,  M.F.H.  In  recognition,  no  doubt,  of  these 
attentions,  the  lady  in  question  permitted  one  of  her  sons 
to  afford  a  little  harmless  pleasure  to  her  benefactor,  and 
this,  having  included  a  lively  gallop  of  some  three  miles, 
ceased  in  a  plantation  where  was  the  place  of  safety  that 
had  been  indicated  to  the  beginner,  and  ceased  appositely, 
at  an  hour  that  made  a  late  breakfast  at  Castle  Ire  a  matter 
obvious,  even  imperative,  for  those  who  were  not  prepared 
to  await,  in  patient  starvation,  that  very  inferior  repast,  an 
early  lunch. 

Young  Mrs.  Kirby  had  not  lost,  with  matrimony,  the 
habit  of  having  her  own  way. 

"No,  Christian,  you're  not  going  home.  You  haven't 

seen  Baby,  and  he  really  looks  rather  sweet  in  his  new " 

(a  negligible  matter,  whatever  the  attire  the  formulae  being 
unvaried) — "and,  besides,"  continued  young  Mrs.  Kirby, 
with  decision,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Being  talked  to  by  Judith  was  an  adequate  modern  equiva- 
lent for  an  interview  with  the  "Jailer's  Daughter,"  as  a 
method  of  obtaining  information. 

Christian  trembled  for  the  secret  of  the  pearl. 

"Bill  tells  me,"  began  Judith,  after  the  late  breakfast  had 
been  disposed  of,  settling  herself  luxuriously  in  an  armchair 
in  the  round  tower-room  which  she  had  made  her  own  sit- 
ting-room and  lighting  a  cigarette,  "that  our  tenants — I 


242  MOUNT  MUSIC 

mean  Papa's  people — are  getting  rather  nasty.  Of  course, 
there  was  that  disgraceful  business  when  your  mare  was 
killed  but  I  don't  mean  that — Bill  thinks  old  Fairfax  was 
right  in  advising  Papa  to  do  nothing  about  that — but  about 
this  archaic  nonsense  of  feudal  feeling  and  not  selling  the 
property.  Of  course  he's  bound  to  lose  by  the  sale,  but  the 
longer  he  waits  the  worse  it  gets." 

"I  don't  think  it's  only  feudal  feeling — he  says  he  can't 
afford  to  sell,"  began  Christian. 

"Oh,  I  know  all  that,  my  dear,"  interrupted  Judith; 
"  'the  infernal  mortgagees,  and  the  damned  charges,  and 
that  blackguard  rebel,  young  Mangan,  who  cut  the  ground 
from  under  his  feet,'  and  so  on.  I've  heard  it  all  from  Papa, 
exactly  five  thousand  times.  But  the  point  is  that  there 
was  a  meeting  at  Pribawn,  with  the  priest  in  the  chair,  and 
there  were  furious  speeches,  and  they  talked  of  boycotting 
Papa,  and  some  steps  ought  to  be  taken.  It's  an  intolerable 
nuisance  being  boycotted,  if  it's  nothing  else,  and  most  ex- 
pensive. I  was  with  the  O'Donnells  that  time  when  they 
were  boycotted — up  at  five  every  morning  to  milk  the  cows 
and  light  the  kitchen  fire,  and  having  to  get  every  earthly 
thing  by  post  from  London!" 

"I'll  take  as  many  steps  as  you  like,"  said  Christian,  "if 
you'll  only  tell  me  where  to  take  them." 

Judith  took  her  cigarette  out  of  her  mouth,  and  blew  a 
ring  of  smoke,  regarding  her  younger  sister  the  while  with 
a  shrewd  and  wary  blue  eye. 

"I've  often  said  to  you,  my  dear  child,"  she  began,  in  a 
voice  that  seemed  intended  to  usher  in  a  change  of  subject, 
"that  if  you  won't  take  an  interest  in  men,  they  won't  take 
an  interest  in  you." 

"Then  why  repeat  the  statement?"  said  Christian,  wonder- 
ing what  Judith  was  working  up  to,  and  girding  herself  for 
battle;  "true  and  beautiful  though  it  is!" 

"Because,  my  dear — and  I  may  say  I  speak  as  one  having 
authority  and  not  as  the  scribes — in  my  opinion,  and  judging 
by  what  I  perceived  with  about  a  quarter  of  one  eye  at 


MOUNT  MUSIC  243 

breakfast,  you  have  only  to  hold  up  your  little  ringer,  in  a 
friendly  and  encouraging  manner,  and  our  young  friend  and 
relative,  Mr.  Coppinger,  will — I  admit  I  don't  quite  know 
what  people  do  with  little  fingers  in  these  cases,  something 
affectionate,  no  doubt!" 

"I  thought  your  authority  would  have  extended  to  little 
fingers!"  broke  in  Christian,  sparring  for  wind,  and  wishing 
she  were  not  facing  the  window;  "in  any  case,  I  fail  to  see 
what  mine,  in  this  instance,  has  to  say  to  our  being  boy- 
cotted?" 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  Judith,  leaning  forward,  and  speak- 
ing with  solemnity,  "the  priests  won't  want  to  fall  foul  of 
anyone  with  as  much  money  as  Larry!" 

Christian  was  silent;  she  had  not  anticipated  quite  so 
direct  an  intervention  in  her  personal  affairs  as  was  now 
being  discovered,  and  she  felt  that  her  pearl  was  melting 
in  the  fierce  solvent  of  Judith's  interest  and  curiosity. 

"I  know  it's  a  bore  about  his  religion,  and  his  politics  are 
more  than  shaky,  but  you  know,  in  a  way,  it's  rather  lucky, 
in  view  of  the  mess  Papa's  got  everything  into,  to  have  some- 
one on  that  side,"  went  on  Judith,  who  was  far  too  practical 
to  be  influenced  by  that  malign  Spirit  of  the  Nation  who 
had  so  persistently  endeavoured  to  establish  herself  as  one 
of  the  family  at  Mount  Music.  "All  I'm  afraid  of  is  that 
Papa  may  begin  to  beat  the  Protestant  drum  and  wave  the 
Union  Jack!  Such  nonsense!  The  main  thing  is  that  Larry 
himself  is  quite  all  right!" 

"I'm  sure  he  would  be  gratified  by  your  approval!" 
Judith's  patronage  was  somewhat  galling;  Judith,  who  was 
quite  pleased  with  Bill  Kirby! — Good,  excellent  Bill,  but 

still !  Christian's  colour  betrayed  her,  and  she  knew  it, 

and  knowing  also  the  remorseless  cross-examination  that  the 
betrayal  would  immediately  provoke,  she  decided  to  antici- 
pate it. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  she  went  on,  "he — we "  she 

hated  the  crudity  of  the  statement. 


244  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"You're  engaged!"  swooped  Judith,  with  the  speed  of  a 
hawk.  "Excellent  girl !" 

Christian  found  the  commendation  offensive. 

"I  assure  you  it's  quite  without  either  political  or  religious 
bias!"  she  said  defiantly.  She  had  failed  to  keep  her  secret, 
but  she  went  down  with  her  flags  flying. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

BARTY  MANGAN  fulfilled  his  father's  behests,  and  on  Satur- 
day, he  drove  his  mother  to  Coppinger's  Court. 

He  drove  a  motor  well ;  not  brilliantly,  like  Larry,  because 
Barty  did  nothing  brilliantly,  but  capably  and  gently,  with 
consideration  for  donkey-carts,  with  respect  for  horses,  with 
kindness  towards  pedestrians,  even  without  animosity  tQ 
wards  cur-dogs.  The  surprising  aspect  of  the  fact  was  trial} 
he  should  be  able,  in  any  degree,  to  handle  a  car,  the  con^ 
trol  of  energy  being  an  effort  foreign  to  his  nature.  What 
in  his  mother  was  laziness,  was  with  him  transmuted  to 
languor;  his  father's  vigour  and  decision  became  in  Barty  a 
sort  of  tepid  obstinacy,  and  the  Doctor's  fierce  and  fighting 
allegiance  to  his  Church  reappeared  in  his  son  as  a  peevish 
conscientiousness,  that  had  provoked  a  friend  of  the  family 
to  say:  "Barty 's  a  dam'  bad  solicitor!  He'll  take  up  no  case 
but  what  pleases  him,  and  he'll  touch  nothing  if  he  thinks 
he'll  make  money  out  of  it!" 

"Ah!  He  was  always  a  fool  for  himself!"  replied, 
heartily,  Barty's  great-aunt,  Mrs.  Cantwell,  to  whom  the 
comment  had  been  offered. 

One  aspect  of  the  practical  affairs  of  life,  and  one  only, 
had  power  to  rouse  Barty  from  the  dreamy  passivity  which 
had  excited  Great-Aunt  Cantwell's  contempt.  Where  Ire- 
land and  Irish  politics  came  into  question,  some  deep  spring 
of  sentiment  and  enthusiasm  in  him  was  touched,  and  all 
the  force  that  he  was  capable  of  became  manifest.  All  the 
strength  and  tenacity  that  were  in  him  were  concentrated 
in  the  cause  of  Nationalism;  Ireland  was  his  religion,  and 
he  felt  himself  to  be  one  of  her  priesthood. 

245 


246  MOUNT  MUSIC 

There  are  some  gentle  natures,  with  deep  affections,  but 
without  much  brain-power  in  whom  an  idea,  a  mental  atti- 
tude, and  especially  a  personal  liking  or  disliking,  is  very 
easily  implanted;  yet,  easily  as  it  is  introduced,  once  it  has 
taken  hold  it  can  never  be  dislodged.  The  intellect  has  not 
energy  enough  for  reconstruction ;  it  accepts  too  readily,  and, 
once  saturated,  the  stain  is  indelible,  because  there  is  no 
power  of  growth. 

Behold,  then,  Barty,  gentle  and  obstinate,  timid  and  an 
enthusiast,  loving,  yet  implacable,  seated  in  Larry's  studio, 
regarding  with  submissive  adoration  the  being  compact  of 
the  antithesis  of  his  qualities,  and  ready,  for  that  being's 
sake,  to  make  any  sacrifice  save  that  of  renouncing  him. 

The  being  in  question,  wholly  and  feverishly  absorbed  in 
his  own  affairs  of  the  heart,  while  bound  by  his  oath  to  say 
nothing  about  them,  brought  himself  with  difficulty  to  attend 
to  the  retrospect  of  financial  operations,  hitherto  postponed, 
but  now  insisted  upon,  by  his  man  of  business. 

"Oh,  first-rate,  old  chap — quite  all  right — good  busi- 
ness!  "  With  these,  and  similar  interjections,  did  the 

employer  ratify  and  approve  of  his  agent's  transactions. 
Barty 's  legal  training  abetted  his  conscientiousness,  and  in 
his  mild  and  monotonous  brogue  he  laid  before  Larry  a 
statement  of  his  money  matters  that  was  as  unsparing  in 
detail  as  it  was  accurate. 

"So  now  you  see,"  he  concluded,  "I  didn't  act  without 
careful  consideration,  and  I  consulted  me  fawther,  besides 
others  of  experience  in  such  matters.  I  believe  there  are 
people  who  are  saying  we  sold  too  cheap  to  the  tenants. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  money's  good  and  safe  now; 
you  have  a  certain  and  secure  income,  and  you're  in  a  very 
favourable  position  in  the  eyes  of  the  people." 

Larry  pulled  himself  from  reverie  to  ejaculate  further 
general  approval;  then  he  rose  from  the  table,  upon  which 
Barty 's  books  had  been  displayed,  and  drawing  forward  an 
easel  on  which  was  a  framed  canvas  covered  by  some  vivid 
oriental  drapery,  he  arranged  it  carefully  with  regard  to  the 


MOUNT  MUSIC  247 

light.  Tken  he  caught  away  the  drapery,  stepping  back, 
quickly,  frem  the  easel. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  Barty?" 

Barty,  who  was  short-sighted,  stood  up  and  adjusted  his 
eye-glasses,  while  he  endeavoured  to  readjust  his  ideas,  and 
to  abandon  the  realms  of  business  for  those  of  art. 

"But  you  know,  Larry,"  he  apologised,  "I  know  nothing 
about  paintings.  You  wouldn't  know  what  tomfoolery  I 
mightn't "  The  apology  broke  off  abruptly. 

"Oh,  God!"  he  muttered,  feeling,  in  the  shock  of  meeting 
her  eyes,  as  if  a  sudden  wind  had  swept  his  mind  bare  of 
business,  of  Larry,  of  all  things  save  Christian,  "it's 
herself!" 

His  sallow  face  had  turned  a  dull  red.  He  moved  back 
a  step  or  two,  and  then  went  forward  again.  The  easel  was 
low,  and  Barty  was  very  tall;  he  went  on  his  knees,  and 
gazed,  speechless. 

Thus  might  a  devout  Russian  have  greeted  a  lost  icon, 
and  worshipped,  silently,  a  re-found  saint.  Larry,  equally 
absorbed,  as  any  painter  will  understand,  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  his  work,  took  no  heed  of  its  effect  upon  Barty. 

"By  Jove!"  he  murmured,  drawing  a  big  breath,  "I 
wonder  if  I  did  it!  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  had — something 

outside  me "  He  stopped;  he  felt  as  if  Christian  herself 

were  there;  he  felt  as  if  her  arms  were  round  him,  his  head 
upon  her  bosom.  He  was  giddy  with  emotion.  Scarcely 
knowing  what  he  did  he  walked  across  the  room,  and  stared 
out  of  the  window,  looking  across  his  own  woods  to  the 
woods  of  Mount  Music. 

That  morning  he  had  said  good-bye  to  her  for  three  long 
days.  She  had  met  him  at  the  old  stepping  stones  across 
the  Ownashee,  and  she  had  made  him  renew  his  promise 
of  silence  until  her  return;  he  was  sorry  he  couldn't  tell 
old  Barty;  but  no  matter,  nothing  mattered,  except  the 
marvel  that  she  was  his.  He  whispered  adoration  to  her, 
breathing  her  name  again  and  again,  crowning  it,  as  with  a 
wreath,  with  those  old,  familiar  adjectives  that  had  so  lately 


248  MOUNT  MUSIC 

become  intense  with  new  meaning  for  him;  he  forgot  Barty, 
forgot  even  her  portrait,  as  he  thought  of  herself. 

Barty  came  over  to  him;  the  two  young  men,  with  their 
common  secret,  suspected  by  neither,  a  secret  that  for  one 
was  a  living  ecstasy,  and  for  the  other  an  impossible  ideal, 
stood  silent,  full  of  their  own  thoughts.  Barty  spoke  first. 

"It's  a  wonder  to  me!  I  didn't  think  you  could  paint 
like  that,  Larry!  I  didn't  think  anyone  could!" 

"Well,  no  more  I  can,  really.  This  was  a  sort  of  a 
miracle  and  it  painted  itself." 

The  same  impulse  moved  them  both,  and  they  returned 
to  the  easel  on  which  was  the  picture,  but  with  a  quick 
movement  Larry  flung  the  drapery  over  the  frame  again  and 
hid  the  picture. 

"Didn't  you  say  you  had  a  message  for  me  from  your 
father?" 

Barty  accepted  the  change  of  subject  with  his  accustomed 
resignation  to  Larry's  moods. 

"I  have.  He  said  he'd  be  at  home  to-morrow  afternoon 
— that's  Sunday — and  he  wanted  to  see  you  on  very  special 
business." 

"Do  you  know  what  about?"  Larry  asked,  without  in- 
terest, while  he  arranged  the  many-coloured  silken  drapery 
in  effective  folds  over  the  picture. 

"I  believe  old  Prendergast's  dying." 

Barty  hesitated;  then,  remembering  that  his  father  had 
not  enjoined  secrecy,  he  rushed  into  his  subject.  "Larry, 
I  believe  the  chance  we've  been  waiting  for  is  come — or  as 
good  as  come!" 

"Do  you  mean  that  it's  Prendergast  the  Member  who's 
dying?  Do  you  mean  my  getting  into  Parliament?" 

Larry  swung  round  on  Barty,  and  fired  the  questions  at 
him,  quick  as  shots  from  a  revolver. 

The  colour  rose  again  in  Barty 's  face.  His  dark,  short- 
sighted eyes,  that  were  set  on  Larry,  had  a  sudden  glow  in 
them.  He  nodded. 

"He's  likely  dead  by  now!    Oh  Larry!"  he  cried,  panting 


MOUNT  MUSIC  249 

in  his  eagerness.  "May  be  the  chance  has  come  at  last! 
I  believe  you  might  be  the  man  Ireland  wants!  I  believe 
you  might  take  Parnell's  place!  Me  fawther  says  you're 
certain  to  be  nominated,  and  there's  no  opposition,  of  course. 
Anyhow,  if  there  were,  itself,  you'd  go  in  flying,  just  the 
same!  You're  the  man  we're  all  waiting  for!  Larry,  old 
cock!  The  day  will  come  when  I'll  be  bragging  that  I  was 
the  one  first  gave  you  the  notion  to  go  into  politics!" 

Larry  was  gazing  at  his  man  of  business,  whose  aspect, 
it  may  be  conceded,  was  at  this  moment  singularly  at  vari- 
ance with  the  usual  conception  of  such  a  functionary.  The 
man  of  business  gazed  back  at  him,  the  glow  intensifying 
behind  his  eye-glasses  and  gathering  energy  from  the  answer- 
ing gleam  in  Larry's  eyes. 

"The  Bloody  Wars!"  uttered  Larry,  slowly  and  quite 
irrelevantly,  and  with  great  emphasis.  "By  all  the  crosses 
in  a  yard  of  check!  Let  me  hold  on  to  something  and 
think !  This  is  a  game  and  a  half !  I  must  think  furiously !" 

"Do  not!"  exclaimed  Barty;  "don't  think  at  all!  Don't 
be  wasting  time  like  that !  No  man  ever  had  a  greater 
chance  than  this!  Lep  at  it,  Larry,  old  lad!  Give  me' the 
word  I  want,  and  I'll  wire  the  Doctor  to-night — a  message 
he'll  understand,  and  no  one  else.  Oh  Larry!"  he  implored, 
"don't  cry  off  now!  You've  pots  of  money;  you  can  do 
any  damn  thing  you  like !  If  you  refuse  this  chance  now 
you'll  only  regret  it  the  once,  and  that'll  be  all  your 
life!" 

Then  did  that  mysterious  and  mighty  agency,  the  warp 
that  a  mind  has  received  in  childhood,  come  to  reinforce 
the  enthusiasms  and  ambitions  of  youth,  and  urge  Larry  to 
assent.  That  other  and  nobler  Spirit  of  the  Nation  woke, 
and  the  passionate,  irreconcilable  voice,  that  had  first  spoken 
to  him  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  woke  and  uttered  itself 
again,  shouting  to  him  its  wild  summons  at  a  moment  when 
the  tide  of  life  was  running  fiercest  in  him,  when  every 
emotion  was  at  highest  pressure  and  calling  for  great 
adventure. 


250  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"All  right,  Barty,  my  son,  I'm  for  it!"  said  Larry,  with 
the  assumption  of  outward  calm,  when  heart  and  pulses  are 
pounding,  that  has  been  claimed  as  one  of  the  assets  of  a 
public  school  education,  and  is,  even  without  that  advantage, 
the  birthright  of  such  as  young  Mr.  Coppinger. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

LARRY  bicycled  up  to  the  white  chapel  on  the  hill,  to  Second 
Mass,  on  the  following  morning.  He  rode  fast  through 
the  converging  groups  of  people,  on  foot,  on  outside  cars, 
in  carts,  on  horseback.  It  was  four  years  since  he  had  last 
attended  a  service  there,  and  to  many  of  the  assembled  con- 
gregation he  had  become  a  stranger.  None  the  less  there 
was  no  hesitation  in  any  man's  mind  in  identifying  him; 
these  were  people  who  knew  a  gentleman  when  they  saw 
one,  and  the  young  owner  of  Coppinger's  Court  was  the 
only  gentleman  ever  to  be  seen  at  the  white  chapel  on  the 
hill. 

Therefore  it  was  that  Larry's  right  hand  was  seldom  on 
his  handle-bar,  as  he  skimmed  through  the  people,  decent 
and  dark-dressed  in  their  Sunday  best,  who  saluted  with  a 
long-established  friendship  and  respect  this  solitary  repre- 
sentative of  their  traditional  enemies,  the  landlords. 

There  cannot  be  in  the  world  a  people  more  unfailingly 
church-going  than  those  sons  and  daughters  of  Rome  who 
are  bred  in  Southern  Ireland.  Larry  looked  down,  from  his 
pew  in  the  gallery,  at  the  close  ranks  of  kneeling  figures, 
and  thought  with  compunction  how  long  it  was  since  he 
had  been  in  a  church,  and  thanked  God  that  he  had  come 
home  to  his  own  people,  and  that  their  religion  was  his. 
He  followed  the  words  of  the  service  with  a  new  realisation 
of  their  ancient  beauty.  He  trembled  with  an  unfamiliar 
emotion,  as,  in  the  charged  silence  of  the  crowded  chapel, 
the  bell  tinkled  and  the  censer  clashed,  sounds  that  have  in 
them  at  such  moments  a  heart-shaking  power,  magnetic* 
mystical.  He  heard  nothing  of  the  sermon;  in  his  eager 

251 


252  MOUNT  MUSIC 

mind  two  thoughts  raced  side  by  side,  now  one,  now  the 
other,  leading.  These  two  marvels  that  had  befallen.  That 
Christian  should  love  him;  this  had  the  mastery,  irradiating 
all;  but  with  the  vivid  sense  of  fellowship  and  communion 
that  the  service  brought  the  other  thought,  the  old  dream 
that  was  coming  true  of  standing  for  these  people,  of  making 
their  interests  his,  their  welfare  his  care,  moved  him  pro- 
foundly. 

Outside  in  the  chapel  yard,  after  the  service,  the  congrega- 
tion was  in  no  hurry  to  disperse.  Larry  looked  about  him, 
and  found  many  friendly  eyes  set  on  him.  Larry,  too,  had 
a  friendly  heart,  and  he  bethought  him  that,  as  a  future 
M.P.,  he  should  lose  no  opportunity  of  intercourse  with  his 
constituents.  He  recognised  the  solid  presence  of  John 
Herlihy,  an  elderly  farmer  who  had  been  one  of  the  largest 
of  his  own  late  tenants,  and  he  went  across  the  yard  to 
where  he  stood  and  shook  hands  with  him. 

"Fine  day,  John!  Good  and  hot  for  the  harvest!  Got 
your  threshing  done  yet?" 

4  'Tis  very  warm,  sir,"  answered  John  Herlihy,  correct- 
ing, as  is  invariable,  Larry's  employment  of  the  vulgar  ad- 
jective "hot" ;  "very  warm  entirely,  and  sure  I  have  my  corn 
threshed  this  ten  days,  the  same  as  yourself!" 

"Nothing  like  taking  time  by  the  fetlock,  is  there,  John!" 
chaffed  Larry  (who,  until  that  moment,  had  been  unaware 
that  he  possessed  any  corn) ;  "it's  a  good  harvest  all  round, 
isn't  it?" 

"Well,  pretty  fair,  thank  God!". 

"And  the  country's  quiet?" 

"Never  better,  sir,  never  better!"  responded  John  Herlihy, 
weightily;  but  something  in  his  cool  eyes,  grey  and  wise 
as  a  parrot's,  impelled  Larry,  in  his  new-born  sense  of  respon- 
sibility, to  further  questioning. 

Mr.  John  Herlihy  was  a  man  of  the  order  to  whom  the 
label  "respectable"  inevitably  attaches  itself  (that  adjective 
which  acts  as  a  touch-stone  in  the  definition  of  class,  and  is 
a  compliment  up  to  a  certain  point,  an  offence  higher  up 


MOUNT  MUSIC  253 

the  scale) ;  one  of  those  sound  and  sensible  and  thrifty 
farmers  who  are  the  strength  of  Ireland,  and  are  as  the 
stones  of  a  break-water,  over  which  the  storm-froth  of  the 
waters  of  politics  sweeps  unheeded. 

"Well,"  Larry  went  on,  "it  wasn't  a  very  nice  way  that 
those  Carmodys  up  at  Derrylugga  treated  Miss  Christian 
Talbot-Lowry  the  other  day!  Killing  her  mare  under  her, 
the  cowardly  blackguards!" 

The  grey  parrot  eyes  scanned  Larry,  summing  him  up, 
determining  how  far  he  might  be  trusted,  deciding  that  an 
oblique  approach  might  be  most  advisable. 

"Major  Lowry's  a  fine  gentleman,"  said  John  Herlihy, 
largely;  "a  fine,  easy,  grauver  man!  I  declare  I  was  sorry 
to  me  heart  when  he  gave  up  the  hounds!  If  it  was  to  be 
only  a  scold  or  a  curse  from  him,  ye'd  rather  it,  and  to  have 
he  be  goin'  through  the  country!" 

"Then  what  have  people  against  him?  Good  God!" 
cried  Larry,  hotly.  "It's  too  easy  he  is!  7  wouldn't  have 
let  those  devils  off  as  easy  as  he  did!" 

"I  heard  the  Priest  and  a  few  more,  was  above  at  Mount 
Music  ere  yesterday,"  said  John  Herlihy,  in  a  slightly  low- 
ered voice,  "about  the  sale  of  the  property  they  were,  I 
b'lieve.  You  done  well,  Master  Larry,  you  got  quit  o'  the 
whole  kit  of  us!" 

Having  thus  shelved  the  controversial  subject,  Mr.  Her- 
lihy, laughing  heartily  at  his  own  jest,  moved  towards  his 
horse  and  car,  that  were  hitched  to  the  chapel  gate,  and  let 
down  the  upturned  side  of  the  car. 

"Come!  Get  up,  woman!  Get  up!"  he  called  to  his 
wife,  a  prosperous  lady,  in  a  massive,  blue,  hooded  cloak, 
who  had  been  standing  by  the  gate,  patiently  waiting  his 
pleasure;  "don't  be  delaying  me  this  way!" 

He  winked  at  Larry,  scrambling  on  to  the  car. 

"What  tashpy  he  has!"  remarked  Mrs.  Herlihy,  benig- 
nantly,  as  Larry  shook  hands  with  her. 

"Ah,  you  spoil  him,  Mrs.  Herlihy!  You  should  dock 
his  oats!"  said  Larry,  laughing  into  her  jolly,  round,  red 


254  MOUNT  MUSIC 

face,  that  was  glistening  with  heat  under  the  heavy  cloth 
hood.  "It's  a  grand  hot  day,  isn't  it?" 

"  Tis  very  warm,  sir,  indeed,"  corrected  Mrs.  Herlihy, 
as  she  mounted  the  car  with  an  agility  as  competent,  and 
as  unexpected,  as  that  of  a  trespassing  cow  confronted  with 
a  stone-faced  bank. 

Larry  went  home,  and  continued  a  letter  to  Christian 
that  he  had  begun  over  night.  He  told  her  of  Barty's  visit, 
and  of  all  that  it  was  likely  to  involve.  He  said  that  he  was 
very  lonely,  and  he  believed  she  had  been  gone  a  year.  Even 
Aunt  Freddy  had  bolted  off  to  Dublin,  on  urgent  private 
affairs,  which  meant  the  dentist,  as  usual.  He  would  go 
over  to  see  Cousin  Dick,  only  that  he  was  absolutely  bound 
to  go  into  Cluhir.  At  this  point  he  entered  anew  upon  the 
subject  of  his  political  future,  and  what  it  meant  to  him. 
Of  the  fun  he  would  have  canvassing  the  electors.  Christian 
would  have  to  come  round  with  him,  and  in  very  obdurate 
cases  there  was  always  the  classical  method  of  the  Duchess 
of  Devonshire  to  be  resorted  to!  Already,  he  said,  he  was 
frightfully  interested  in  the  whole  show,  and  he  meant — 
several  pages  were  devoted  by  Larry  to  his  intentions. 

Christian,  far  away  in  the  County  Limerick,  received  the 
letter  with  her  early  cup  of  tea,  and,  as  she  read  it,  felt  her 
soul  disquieted  within  her.  The  conjunction  of  the  stars 
of  Love  and  Politics  presaged,  she  felt,  disaster — as  if  the 
question  of  religon  had  not  been  complicating  enough! 
Even  had  her  gift  of  envisaging  a  situation  by  the  light 
of  reason  failed  her,  that  spiritual  aneroid,  which,  sensitive 
to  soul-pressure,  warned  her  intuitively  of  coming  joy  or 
sorrow,  ill  luck  or  good  fortune,  had  fallen  from  set  fair 
to  stormy.  She  had  gone  to  sleep  with  sunshine  in  her 
heart;  she  awoke  in  clouds,  dark  and  threatening.  She  read 
Larry's  letter,  and  knew  that  the  foreboding  would  come 
true. 

It  is  probable  that  no  human  being  was  ever  less  the  prey 
of  intuitions  or  presentiments  than  was  young  Mr.  Cop- 
pinger,  as  he  bicycled  lightly  into  Cluhir  along  the  solitary 


MOUNT  MUSIC  255 

steam-rolled  road  of  the  district,  a  typical  effort  of  Irish 
civilisation,  initiated  by  Dr.  Mangan,  that  had  proposed  to 
link  Cluhir  with  the  outer  world,  but  had  died,  like  a  worn- 
out  tramp,  at  the  end  of  a  few  faltering  miles,  on  the  steps 
of  the  work-house  hospital  at  Riverstown.  The  road  ran 
along  the  bank  of  the  great  river,  with  nothing  save  a  low 
fence  and  a  footpath  between  it  and  the  water.  The  river 
was -still  and  gleaming.  Masses  of  dove-coloured  cloud,  with 
touches  of  silver-saffron,  where  their  lining  showed  through, 
draped  the  wide  sky,  in  over-lapping  folds.  The  planes  of 
distance  up  the  broad  valley  were  graduated  in  tone  by  a 
succession  of  screens  of  lumious  vapour  that  parcelled  out 
the  landscape,  taking  away  all  colour  save  that  bestowed  by 
the  transparent  golden  grey  of  the  mist.  The  roofs  of  Cluhir 
made  a  dark  profile  in  the  middle  distance,  the  lower  part 
of  the  houses  hidden  in  the  steaming  mist,  and  the  beautiful 
outline  of  the  twin  crests  of  Carrigaholt  was  like  a  golden 
shadow  in  the  sky  above  them.  The  spire  and  the  tower  of 
the  two  churches  of  Cluhir,  rose  on  either  side  of  the  pale 
radiance  of  the  river,  with  the  slender  arch  of  the  bridge 
joining  them,  as  if  to  show  in  allegory  their  inherent  oneness, 
their  joint  access  to  the  water  of  life.  Religion  counted  for 
but  little  with  Larry  in  those  days,  yet  as  the  wonder  of 
beauty  sank  into  his  soul,  that  was  ever  thirsty  for  beauty, 
the  thought  of  what  it  would  mean  for  Ireland  if  the  symbol 
of  the  linking  bridge  had  its  counterpart  in  reality  sprang 
into  his  eager  mind.  Then  he  thought  of  himself  and  Chris- 
tian, and  knew  that  religion  could  never  come  between  him 
and  her,  and,  as  the  close-followed  thought  of  what  these 
last  days  had  brought,  rose  in  his  mind,  the  wonder  of  it 
overwhelmed  him.  He  told  himself  that  the  only  possible 
explanation  of  her  caring  for  such  as  he,  was  that  Narcissus- 
like,  she  had  seen  her  own  image  reflected  in  his  heart,  and 
had  fallen  in  love  with  it.  The  fancy  attracted  him;  he 
rode  on,  his  mind  set  on  a  sonnet  that  should  fitly  enshrine 
the  thought,  and  politics  and  religion,  symbols  and  ideals, 
faded,  as  the  stars  go  out  when  the  sun  comes. 


256  MOUNT  MUSIC 

For  the  last  couple  of  miles  before  Cluhir  was  reached, 
the  road  and  the  river  ran  their  parallel  course  in  a  line  that 
was  nearly  direct,  and,  from  a  long  way  off,  Larry  was 
aware  of  the  figure  of  a  man  and  woman  and  a  dog,  pre- 
ceding him  towards  the  town.  He  noted  presently  that  the 
dog  had  passed  from  view,  and  then  he  saw  the  man  and 
the  woman  hurry  across  the  road  and  pass  through  the 
gateway  of  a  field.  He  was  soon  level  with  the  gate.  There 
was  a  little  knot  of  people  just  within  the  field,  and  in  the 
moment  of  perceiving  that  the  woman  was  Tishy  Mangan, 
he  also  saw  that  a  fierce  fight  was  in  progress  between  two 
dogs. 

"Oh,  stop  them,  stop  them!"  Tishy  was  screaming. 
"That's  my  father's  dog,  and  he'll  be  killed!" 

She  belaboured  the  dogs,  futilely,  with  her  parasol. 

The  man  who  was  with  her,  a  tall  and  elaborately  well- 
dressed  young  gentleman  with  a  red  moustache,  confined 
himself,  very  wisely,  to  loud  exhortations  to  the  remainder 
of  the  group,  who  were  lads  from  the  town,  to  call  off  their 
dog;  and  the  remainder  of  the  group,  writh  equal  wisdom 
and  greater  candour,  were  unanimously  asserting  that  they 
would  be  "in  dhread"  to  touch  the  combatants.  The  dogs 
were  well  matched — strong,  yellow-red  Irish  terriers;  each 
had  the  other  by  the  side  of  the  throat,  and  each,  with  the 
deep,  snuffling  gurgles  of  strenuous  combat,  was  trying  to 
better  his  hold  on  his  enemy. 

Larry,  swift  in  action  as  in  thought,  was  off  his  bicycle 
and  into  the  ring  without  a  second  of  hesitation. 

"Catch  your  dog  by  the  tail,"  he  shouted  to  the  boys, 
while  he  performed  the  like  office  for  the  Doctor's  dog. 
"Now  then!  Into  the  river  with  them!" 

The  two  dogs,  fast  in  each  other's  jaws,  were  lifted,  and 
were  borne  across  the  road  to  the  edge  of  the  footpath, 
below  which  the  river  ran,  deep  and  strong. 

"Now  then!" 

The  two  rough,  yellow  bodies  were  swung  between  Larry 
and  his  coadjutor. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  257 

"Now!     Let  'em  go!" 

The  dogs  flew  like  chain-shot  through  the  air,  and,  with 
a  tremendous  splash  disappeared  from  view  in  the  river. 
They  rose  to  the  surface  still  keeping  their  hold  of  one 
another,  and  sank  again.  A  second  time  they  rose  without 
having  loosened  their  grip,  but  at  their  third  appearance  they 
were  apart. 

"Now  boys!  Cruisht  them  well,  or  they'll  be  at  it  again 
when  they  land!" 

The  "cruishting,"  which  means  pelting  with  stones,  suc- 
ceeded. The  enemies  landed  at  different  points.  Miss 
Mangan's  charge  was  recaptured,  his  antagonist  was  stoned 
by  his  owners  until  out  of  range,  and  the  incident  closed. 

It  was  not,  however,  without  result. 

"I  think  you  never  met  Captain  Cloherty,  Mr.  Cop- 
pinger?"  said  Tishy,  with  a  glance  at  Captain  Cloherty  that 
spoke  disapproval.  "He's  not  as  useful  in  a  fight  as  you 
are,  though  he  is  in  the  Army!" 

"My  branch  of  the  service  mends  wounds,  it  doesn't  go 
out  of  its  way  to  get  them!"  returned  Captain  Cloherty, 
composedly,  "and  I  haven't  any  use  for  getting  bitten." 

"Mr.  Coppinger  wasn't  so  nervous!"  retorted  Miss 
Mangan,  scorchingly,  "and  it's  well  for  me  he  wasn't! 
What'd  I  say  to  the  Doctor  if  I  had  to  tell  him  his  pet  dog 
was  dead?" 

"Something  else,  I  suppose!"  suggested  Captain  Cloherty, 
his  red  moustache  lifting  in  a  grin  that  Miss  Mangan  found 
excessively  exasperating;  "it  wouldn't  be  the  best  time  to 
tell  the  truth  at  all!" 

"How  funny  you  are!"  said  Tishy,  with  a  blighting 
glance.  "It's  easy  to  joke  now,  when  Mr.  Coppinger  has 
done  the  work!" 

She  swept  another  glance  of  her  grey  eyes  at  Larry,  very 
different  from  that  that  she  had  bestowed  upon  the  callous 
Cloherty. 

Few  young  men  object  to  exaltation  at  the  expense  of 
another,  especially  if  that  other  has  two  or  three  inches  the 


258  MOUNT  MUSIC 

advantage  in  height,  and  they  are  themselves  not  unconscious 
of  deserving.  Larry  led  his  bicycle  and  walked  beside  Tishy, 
and  found  pleasure  in  meeting  her  again  after  four  years 
of  absence.  For  one  thing,  she  had  become  even  better- 
looking  than  he  remembered  her — turned  into  a  thundering 
handsome  young  woman,  he  thought — and  it  became  him, 
as  an  artist,  to  be  a  connoisseur  in  such  matters. 

"Oh,  so  you're  going  to  see  the  Doctor,  are  you?"  she 
said,  "I  know  he  was  expecting  you."  She  hesitated.  "I 
told  him  I  thought  I'd  be  at  Mrs.  Whelply's  this  afternoon. 
He — he  might  be  surprised  if  he  thought  I  had  Tinker  out, 
and  that  he  was  in  a  fight " 

"I'll  keep  it  dark,"  Larry  said,  reassuringly,  while  he 
wondered  if  the  protecting  darkness  were  also  to  envelop 
Captain  Cloherty,  R.A.M.C.  He  thought,  on  the  whole, 
perhaps,  yes. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

MAJOR  TALBOT-LOWRY  had  been  in  a  passion  for  three 
days,  and  Lady  Isabel,  who  had  borne  the  storm  alone, 
longed  for  Christian's  return,  as  the  lone  keeper  of  a  light- 
house might  long  for  the  support  of  his  comrade  during  a 
gale. 

Judith  came  to  visit  her  parents  on  Monday,  but  Judith 
was  very  far  from  being  Christian,  and  could  be  relied  on 
merely  as  far  as  a  counter-irritant  might  prove  of  service. 

"Well,  of  course,  it  was  abominable  impertinence  of  the 
priest  to  come  up  with  the  tenants  to  try  and  bully  you, 
Papa,  but  you  know,  I  see  their  point."  Thus,  Judith, 
annoyingly,  and  with  pertinacity. 

"You  do,  do  you!"  interjected  Judith's  progenitor,  his 
once  ruddy  face  now  a  congested  purple.  "It  seems  to  me, 
Judith,  you're  always  deuced  ready  to  see  any  one's  point 
but  mine!" 

"After  all,"  went  on  Judith,  with  all  the  self-confidence 
and  intolerance  of  five  and  twenty,  "it's  in  your  interest 
to  sell,  just  as  much  as  theirs  to  buy!  With  this  detestable 
Government  in  power  it  will  be  a  case  of  the*  Sibylline 
Books.  You'll  see  the  Nationalists  will  have  it  all  their 
own  way,  and  the  next  Act " 

"Nationalists!"  roared  the  Major,  sitting  upright  in  his 
chair,  and  panting,  his  utterance  temporarily  checked  by 
the  sheer  pressure  of  all  that  he  wished  to  say.  "Don't 
talk  to  me  of  Nationalists!  Common  thieves!  That's  all 
they  are!  There's  no  Nationalism  about  them!  Call  it 
Socialism,  if  you  like,  or  any  other  name  for  robbery !  They'd 
look  very  blue  if  we  took  to  shouting  'Ireland  a  Nation!' 
and  expecting  to  come  in  at  the  finish!  They  mightn't  be 

259 


260  MOUNT  MUSIC 

able  to  call  us  English  invaders  and  to  steal  our  property 
then!  English!  I've  got  Brian  Boroihme  in  my  pedigree 
and  that's  more  than  they  can  say!  A  pack  of  half-bred 
descendants  of  Cromwell's  soldiers!  That's  what  they  are, 
and  the  best  of  them,  too!  That's  the  best  drop  of  blood 
they've  got!"  Dick  shouted,  veering  in  the  wind  of  his  own 
words  like  a  rudderless  ship  in  a  storm.  "That's  what 
gives  them  tenacity  and  bigotry!  Look  at  the  old  places 
that  they're  squeezing  the  old  families  out  of!  It's  the 
Protestant  farmers  and  the  Religious  Orders  that  are  getting 
them,  swarming  into  them  like  rats!  Don't  tell  me  that 
I  and  my  family  aren't  a  better  asset  to  any  country  than 
a  lot  of  fat,  lazy  Monks  and  Nuns!" 

"But,  Papa,  they're  not  all  fat!"  said  Judith,  beginning 
to  laugh. 

"Deuce  a  many  of  them's  thin  for  want  of  plenty  to  eat!" 
returned  Dick,  with  the  confidence  of  a  man  whose  faith 
in  his  theories  has  never  been  interfered  with  by  investiga- 
tion. He  was  recovering  his  temper,  having  enjoyed  the 
delivery  of  his  diatribe;  and  the  fact  that  he  had  not  only 
silenced  Judith  but  had  tickled  her  to  a  laugh,  restored  his 
sense  of  domination. 

Poor  old  King  Canute,  with  the  tide  by  this  time  well 
above  the  tops  of  his  hunting-boots,  and  all  the  familiar 
landmarks  becoming  submerged,  one  after  the  other!  It 
may  be  easy  to  deride  him,  but  it  is  hard  not  to  pity  him. 

This  was  on  Monday,  and  Christian  returned  from  her 
week-end  visit  that  evening.  Judith  stayed,  and  went  with 
Christian  to  her  room. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  she  began,  eagerly,  as  the  door  closed, 
"when  are  you  going  to  announce  it?" 

Christian  sat  down  on  her  bed.  She  was  looking  very 
tired. 

"Never,  I  think!" 

Without  paying,  attention  to  Judith's  exclamation  she  took 
a  newspaper  out  of  the  pocket  of  her  top-coat,  and  handed 
it  to  her  sister. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  261 

"This  is  this  evening's  paper.  I  got  it  at  the  Junction. 
Read  that."  She  pointed  to  a  paragraph. 

Judith  read  it;  then  she  dropped  the  paper,  and  gazed 
at  Christian  with  dramatic  consternation. 

"The  idiot!"  she  said,  at  length.  "Couldn't  you  stop 
him?" 

"He  had  promised  years  ago.  I  didn't  try.  He  couldn't 
break  his  word." 

"Oh,  rot!"  said  Judith,  briefly. 

"You  know  he  couldn't,  Judy." 

"Well,  you  know,  this  will  finish  him  with  Papa,"  said 
Judith,  gloomily.  "He's  bad  enough  as  it  is  about  the  sales 
to  the  tenants,  and  I  was  prepared  for  rows  over  the  religious 
business,  of  course,  but  this !  Can't  you " 

"I  can't  do  anything,"  interrupted  Christian,  getting  up. 
"I  heard  from  him  this  morning,  fearfully  keen  about  it, 
but  he  didn't  know  then  if  the  Party  were  going  to  adopt 
him.  Evidently  they  have." 

"Trust  them  for  that!"  said  Judith,  with  a  heavy  groan. 
"I  suppose  Larry  thinks  we  shall  all  be  delighted!  What 
fools  men  are!  Bill  did  say  once  that  it  had  been  suggested 
— oh,  ages  ago,  when  Larry  came  of  age;  Ma-in-law  told 
him — but  we  thought  it  had  died  out." 

Christian  hardly  heard  what  she  said.  She  was  standing 
at  the  open  window,  in  the  stillness  that  tells  of  intense 
mental  engrossment.  Self-deception  was  impossible  for  her; 
her  mind  was  too  acute  for  tolerance  of  subterfuge;  and 
for  her,  also,  away  and  beyond  the  merciless  findings  of 
intellect  was  the  besetment  of  presentiment,  intuition,  in- 
ward convictions  that  can  override  logical  conclusions,  words 
that  are  breathed  in  the  soul  as  by  a  wind,  and,  like  the 
wind,  are  born  and  die  in  mystery. 

The  last  of  the  daylight  had  gone;  there  was  a  touch  of 
frost;  the  sky  was  clear  and  hard,  the  stars  shone  with  sharp 
brilliance,  some  of  them  had  long,  slanting  rays  on  either 
hand  that  looked  like  wings  of  light;  a  new  moon  glittered 
among  them,  keen  and  clean,  and  vindictive  as  a  scimitar; 


262  MOUNT  MUSIC 

in  the  quiet,  the  low  murmur  of  the  Broadwater  pervaded 
the  night.  Judith  watched  her  sister  with  unconsciously 
appraising  eyes,  noting  the  straight  slenderness  of  her  figure, 
the  small,  high-held,  dark  head. 

"Old  people  are  intolerable!"  she  thought;  "she  shall  not 
sacrifice  herself  to  Papa's  prejudices!  If  she  likes  Larry 
she  shall  have  him!" 

But  she  was  too  wise  to  argue  with  Christian. 

Dick  Talbot-Lowry,  though  now  arrived  at  the  age  of 
sixty-nine,  was  as  unconvinced  as  ever  of  the  fact  that  time 
had  got  the  better  of  him,  and  that  its  despotism  was  daily 
deepening.  He  admitted  that  he  had  become  something  of 
an  invalid,  but  that  his  elder  daughter  should  have  classified 
him  as  an  old  person  would  have  appeared  to  him  as  absurd 
and  offensive.  There  are  minds  that  keep  this  inveterate 
youthfulness;  that  learn  nothing  of  age,  and  forget  nothing 
of  youth.  It  is  an  attitude  sometimes  charming,  sometimes 
undignified,  always  pathetic.  Christian  saw  old  age  as  a 
tragedy,  a  disaster,  to  alleviate  which  no  effort  on  the  part 
of  the  young  could  be  too  great;  the  pathos  and  the  pity 
of  it  were  ever  before  her  eyes.  In  contest  with  her  father, 
if  contest  there  were  to  be,  she  would  go  into  the  arena  with 
her  right  hand  tied  behind  her  back. 

Without  any  definite  admission  of  failure,  Major  Talbot- 
Lowry  had  been  brought  to  submit  to  having  his  breakfast 
in  bed,  and  Robert  Evans,  a  sour  and  withered  Ganymede, 
was  the  bearer  of  it.  He  was  also  the  bearer  of  any  gossip 
that  might  be  available,  and  seldom  failed  to  provide  his 
master  with  a  stimulant  and  irritant.  On  the  morning 
following  on  Christian's  return  it  was  very  evident  that 
intelligence  of  unusual  greatness  seethed  in  the  cauldron 
wherein  fermented  Mr.  Evans'  brew  of  news.  His  rook- 
like  eye  sparkled,  his  movements,  even  that  walk  for  whose 
disabilities  it  may  be  remembered  that  the  pantry  boy  had 
thanked  his  God,  were  alert  and  purposeful. 

"Ye  didn't  see  the  Irish  Times  yet,  I  think?"  he  began, 
standing  over  his  master,  and  looking  down  upon  him  with 


MOUNT  MUSIC  263 

an  expression  as  triumphant  and  malign  as  that  of  a  carrion- 
crow  with  a  piece  of  stolen  meat.  He  rarely  bestowed  the 
usual  honorifics  upon  Dick,  considering  that  his  five  years' 
seniority  relieved  him  of  such  obligations.  "I  wouldn't  be- 
lieve all  I'd  read  in  the  papers,  but  this  is  true,  anyway!" 

"What's  true?"  said  Major  Dick,  irritably;  "you've  for- 
gotten the  salt  again,  Evans!  How  the  devil  can  I  eat  an 
egg  without  salt?  Send  one  of  the  maids  for  it — don't  go 
yourself,"  he  added,  as  Evans  left  the  room.  "The  old 
fool'd  be  all  day  getting  it,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  an 
old  man's  contempt  for  old  age  in  another.  "Now,  then," 
as  Evans  returned,  "what's  your  wonderful  bit  of  news?" 

"Ye  can  read  it  there  for  yourself,"  replied  Evans,  coldly; 
he  was  ruffled  by  the  episode  of  the  salt. 

"Damn  it,  man,  I  can't  read  the  paper  and  eat  an  egg!" 
snapped  the  Major.  "Out  with  your  lie,  whatever  it  is!" 

"Master  Larry's  chosen  for  the  Member  in  place  of 
Prendergast,"  said  Evans,  sulkily. 

If  Evans  had  been  unfortunate  in  the  way  in  which  his 
sensation  had  been  led  up  to,  its  reception  left  him  nothing 
to  desire.  Dick  was  stricken  to  an  instant  of  complete 
silence.  Then  he  roared  to  Evans  to  take  the  damned  tray 
out  of  his  way,  and  to  give  him  the  (otherwise  qualified) 
paper. 

It  would  serve  no  purpose,  useful  or  otherwise,  to  attempt 
to  record  Dick  Talbot-Lowry's  denunciations  of  Larry,  of 
his  religion,  and  of  his  politics;  of,  secondarily,  his  ingrati- 
tude, his  treachery,  and  his  lack  of  the  most  rudimentary 
elements  of  a  gentleman.  They  lasted  long,  and  lacked 
nothing  of  effect  that  strength  of  lung  and  vigour  of 
language  could  bring  to  them.  And  Evans,  the  many- 
wintered  crow,  hearkened,  and  rejoiced  that  he  was  seeing 
his  desire  of  his  enemy. 

"No!  I  won't  eat  it!  Take  it  away — I  don't  want  it, 
I  tell  you!  Curse  you,  can't  you  do  as  you're  bid?"  Thus 
spake  Dick  Talbot-Lowry,  flinging  himself  back  on  his  pil- 
lows, and  shoving  the  breakfast-tray  from  him.  The  hot 


264  MOUNT  MUSIC 

purple  colour  that  had  flooded  his  face  was  fading;  his  voice 
was  getting  hoarse  and  weak.  Evans,  with  an  apprehensive 
eye  on  his  master's  changed  aspect,  carried  the  tray  out 
of  the  room. 

There  was  a  quick  step  on  the  stairs,  and  Larry  came 
lightly  along  the  landing. 

"The  Major  up,  Evans?  No?  Oh,  all  right!  May  I 
come  in,  Cousin  Dick?" 

He  swung  into  the  room. 

Old  Evans  carefully  shut  the  door  behind  him. 

"Now  me  laddy-o!"  he  whispered,  rubbing  his  hooked 
grey  beak  with  one  ringer,  and  chuckling  low  and  wheezily: 
"Now,  maybe!  Me  fine  young  Papist!  Ye'll  be  getting 
your  lay  in  a  mug!  Hot  and  strong!  Hot  and  strong!" 

He  moved  away  from  the  door  with  the  tray  of  untouched 
breakfast  things. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

LADY  ISABEL  was  returning  from  her  accustomed  house- 
keeping morning  visit  to  Mrs.  Dixon,  when  she  was  startled 
by  the  sharp  outcry  of  an  electric  bell. 

"Dick's  room!"  she  said  to  herself,  beginning  to  hurry; 
she  hardly  knew  why. 

A  housemaid  ran  down  the  long  passage  in  front  of  her, 
flying  to  the  summons.  Through  the  open  door  of  the 
dining-room  Lady  Isabel  saw  Christian  giving  the  dogs  their 
breakfast. 

"Papa's  bell  is  ringing,  dear,"  said  Lady  Isabel,  breathing 
hard. 

"I  heard  someone  go  up  to  his  room  just  now,"  said 
Christian,  languidly;  "I  haven't  seen  him  this  morning;  I 
was  in  the  yard  with  the  dogs " 

Someone  came  down  the  stairs,  headlong,  two  steps  at  a 
time.  Larry's  voice  shouted: 

"Christian!     Cousin  Isabel!     Anyone 1" 

There  was  urgency  and  alarm  in  the  voice. 

Lady  Isabel  and  Christian  were  in  the  hall  in  an  instant, 
and  met  Larry  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"Cousin  Dick's  ill !  A  heart  attack,  I  think I  didn't 

know  what  to  do  for  him " 

"I  do!"  said  Christian,  speeding  upstairs. 

Her  mother  followed  her,  and  Larry  remained  in  the  hall. 
Of  one  thing  he  was  quite  certain,  that  he  had  better  keep 
out  of  Cousin  Dick's  sight.  His  nerves  were  quivering  from 
the  interview  that  had  been  so  shatteringly  abbreviated.  Had 
the  friendly  old  setter,  whose  head  at  this  moment  was  on 
his  knee,  while  her  limpid  eyes  swore  to  him  that  all  her 
love  was  his,  suddenly  turned  and  rent  him,  it  would  scarcely 

265 


266  MOUNT  MUSIC 

be  a  shock  worse  than  that  he  had  received.  He  had  been 
undeterred  by  the  ominous  gloom  of  the  Major's  greeting; 
few  young  men  have  very  keen  perception  of  mood,  and 
Larry,  deeply  self-engrossed,  wildly  happy,  had  flung  at  once 
into  his  theme,  which,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  was  Christian. 
Then  the  storm  broke,  and  the  lightning  blazed,  and  the 
thunders  of  the  house  uttered  their  voice,  while  Larry, 
amazed,  horrified,  gradually,  as  the  invective  gathered 
volume  and  venom,  becoming  angry,  stood  in  silence,  and 
received  in  a  single  cloud-burst  the  bitter  flood  of  long-pent 
prejudice,  jealousy,  and  sense  of  injury. 

"Dead!"  Dick  had  roared;  "I'd  rather  see  her  dead  in 
her  coffin  than  married  to " 

The  epithets  that  a  hoarded  hatred  finds  ready  to  hand 
when  its  pent  force  is  released,  come  horribly  from  the  lips 
of  an  old  man.  Yet,  almost  more  horrible  than  the  full 
tide  of  rage,  was  to  see  its  ebb,  as  "the  sick  old  servant" 
in  Major  Dick's  bosom  failed  him,  and  his  heart  staggered 
and  fainted  in  its  effort  to  abet  him  in  denouncing  the  young 
cousin  who  he  thought  had  wronged  him. 

Larry  sat,  fondling  the  old  setter's  chestnut  head,  thinking 
it  all  over,  flaming  again  at  the  remembered  insults,  quailing 
at  the  possibilities  as  they  concerned  Christian.  Once  she 
had  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and  said  the  single 
word,  "Better!"  before  she  vanished. 

One  half  of  Larry's  mind  said  "Better?  What  do  I 
care?  Better  if  he  dies,  if  he  comes  between  me  and  her!" 
The  other,  which  was  his  deeper  self,  preserved  the  memory 
of  Dick's  greying  face  and  frightened  eyes,  and  was  glad 
that  relief  had  come. 

At  last  Christian  came  to  him,  slowly  and  with  a  dragging 
step,  down  the  wide  staircase.  Her  face  was  white,  her  eyes 
were  set  in  shadows. 

"How  is  he?" 

"Round  the  corner,  I  think.    We've  wired  for  Mangan." 

"Christian,  I  want  to  explain — I  said  nothing — I  never 
meant  to  annoy  him.  I  began  about  you,  and  that — that  we 


MOUNT  MUSIC  267 

loved  each  other.  For  we  do,  Christian,  don't  we?"  He 
had  her  hands  in  his,  he  crushed  them  in  his  anxiety,  his 
eyes  implored  her.  "Then  suddenly  he  began  to  abuse  me 
like  a  madman!  My  religion,  my  politics,  my  treachery  to 
my  class — I  can't  tell  you  what  he  didn't  say!  And  then 
he  swore  he'd  rather  see  you  dead  than  married  to  me.  I 
don't  know  what  I  said — nothing,  I  think;  he  began  to  look 
as  if  he  were  dying  himself,  and  I  rang  the  bell  and  bolted 
for  you." 

"Poor  boy!"  said  Christian. 

He  thought  that  her  face  as  she  looked  at  him  was  as  it 
were  the  face  of  an  angel,  but  the  sorrow  in  it  frightened 
him. 

"Come  into  the  study,"  she  said,  freeing  her  hands  from 
his  grasp;  "we  can't  talk  here." 

The  study  door  was  open;  he  followed  her  in  silence,  and, 
shutting  the  door,  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  sofa. 

"Larry,  we've  got  to  face  it,  you  know;  we've  got  to  face 
it,"  she  began,  and  gave  back  to  him  her  slender  sensitive 
hand,  as  if  to  heal  the  wound  of  what  the  words  implied. 

"Face  what?"  said  Larry,  stubbornly,  girding  himself  for 
resistance. 

"Face  delay — opposition " 

"I'll  face  opposition  as  much  as  you  like,  but  I  won't  face 
delay!     Why  should  we?    We're  of  age.     There's  nothing 
against  me !" 
.Christian  smiled  faintly. 

"Dear  child,  I  know  that.  It's  not  the  facts  that  are 
against  us,  it's  the  fancies " 

"I  won't  be  patronised!"  said  Larry,  vehemently.  "I'm 
not  your  dear  child!  I'm  the  man  you've  promised  to  marry! 
No  one's  fancies  have  a  right  to  interfere  with  us!" 

His  arm  was  round  her,  and  he  felt  her  tremble.  He 
loosed  her  hand,  and  with  his  hand  that  had  held  it  he 
turned  her  face  to  his.  Then  he  kissed  her,  many  times, 
with  an  ever-growing  abandonment  as  he  felt  the  response 
that  she  tried  in  vain  to  withhold. 


268  MOUNT  MUSIC 

At  length,  in  spite  of  him,  she  hid  her  face  in  his  shoulder. 

"No,  Larry,  no!"  she  gasped,  her  breath  coming  short. 
"Dearest,  don't  be  cruel  to  me!  How  can  I  keep  that 
promise!  If  you  had  seen  Papa  just  now  and  Mother — 
her  terror  and  her  helplessness!  How  could  I  leave  them? 
Supposing  that  I  defied  him,  and  married  you,  and  that  he 
died  in  one  of  these  furies!  Just  think  what  that  would  be 
for  us!" 

"He  wouldn't  die!"  said  Larry,  obstinately.  "People 
don't  die  as  easy  as  all  that!"  he  added,  with  a  fierce  thought 
of  regret  that  Dick  had  not  gone  out  in  this  latest  storm. 

"Listen,"  said  Christian,  beseechingly.  "Don't  let  us  be 
in  such  a  hurry.  Everything  needn't  be  settled  at  once. 
We'll  ask  Dr.  Mangan  how  Papa  is,  and  if  there  is  real 
danger  for  him  in  these  rages.  He  was  nearly  as  bad  on 
Saturday  after  the  Priest  and  the  tenants  had  been  here." 

Larry's  face  was  dark;  he  was  not  used  to  opposition. 
His  guardians  and  his  spiritual  directors  had  alike  found 
that  while  he  was  easy  to  lead,  he  was  a  difficulty  and  a 
danger  to  drive.  He  was  stirred  to  the  depths  now.  The 
strain  of  receiving  Dick's  onslaught  in  silence,  the  shock  of 
his  collapse,  and  now  the  fire  that  Christian's  nearness  and 
dearness  had  lit  in  him,  all  broke  his  self-control.  He  held 
her  to  him. 

"I  will  never  let  you  go!  Never !"  His  lips  were 

on  hers  again,  life,  with  all  its  difficulties,  was  again  for- 
gotten, the  rhyme  of  the  Fairies'  Well  galloped  in  his  hot 
brain : 

"My  heart  in  your  hands,  your  heart  in  me." 

The  sound  of  the  hall  door  opening,  and  the  grinding 
roar  of  a  motor  engine  running  down,  recalled  them  both 
to  this  troublesome  world. 

But  in  Christian's  heart,  whether  from  within  or  from 
without,  a  voice  had  spoken,  telling  the  kisses,  one  by  one, 
as  though  they  were  the  petals  of  a  flower.  "This  year, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  269 

next  year,  sometime,  never!"  If  the  last  word  had  been 
"sometime,"  or  "never,"  she  knew  not;  she  knew  only  that 
it  what  before  her  was  the  way  of  renunciation,  she  would 
find  it  a  hard  way  to  walk  in. 

Dr.  Mangan  stood,  a  massive  presence,  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  and  talked  massively  to  Lady  Isabel  of  Dick's 
condition. 

"Very  critical — no  worries — nourishment — would  he  have 
a  nurse?" 

To  which  Lady  Isabel,  a  poor,  shaken,  pallid  Lady  Isabel, 
with  no  more  backbone  than  the  shape  of  blancmange,  which, 
it  must  be  said,  she  somewhat  resembled,  replied:  "Nothing 
would  induce  him!" 

"Then  I  should  like  to  have  a  little  talk  with  Miss 
Christian,"  said  the  Big  Doctor,  beginning  to  walk  down- 
stairs, slowly,  solemnly,  solidly,  like  a  trick-elephant  at  a 
circus. 

Christian's  quick  ears  had  heard  his  voice  on  the  stairs, 
and  she  met  him  in  the  hall.  Larry  stood  irresolute  at  the 
door  of  the  study.  His  eyes  met  those  of  the  Doctor,  and 
something  during  the  interchange  of  glances  suggested  that 
his  presence  was  not  desired.  He  returned  to  the  study 
and  shut  the  door,  and  wished  that  he  could  have  a  word 
alone  with  the  Doctor,  just  to  put  him  up  to  what  to  say  to 
Christian.  He  could  hear  the  heavy  rumble  of  the  Doctor's 
bass  voice,  and  the  soft  alto  murmur  of  Christian's  replies. 
She  had  the  Irish  voice,  pitched  on  a  low  note,  an  instrument 
more  apt  for  pathos  than  for  gaiety,  which  is,  perhaps,  what 
gives  to  its  gaiety  so  special  a  charm. 

Larry  stood  by  the  window  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
trying  to  steady  himself.  Deep  under  his  panic  uncertainty 
as  to  the  strength  of  his  hold  on  Christian,  was  the  anger 
that  Dick's  denunciation  had  roused  in  him,  and  momently, 
as  his  mind  went  back  over  the  interview,  remembrance  of 
the  insults  became  more  unendurable.  Abuse  from  the  old 
to  the  young,  and  from  a  sick  man  to  a  sound  one,  cannot 
fail  to  rankle,  since  it  cannot  be  flung  back.  Generosity 


270  MOUNT  MUSIC 

may  impose  silence,  but  it  cannot  obliterate  an  insult  or  heal 
a  wound. 

Christian  came  into  the  room;  he  heard  her  come,  but 
he  would  not  look  round.  She  slid  her  hand  into  his  arm. 

"Larry!  Dear!  Listen  to  me;  there's  no  way  out  of  it 
but  patience!  Dr.  Mangan  says  he  must  be  kept  absolutely 
quiet,  and  have  nothing  to  annoy  him.  He  says  he  might 
die  in  an  instant  in  one  of  those  attacks.  He's  not  himself 

now,  Larry — so  little  makes  him  lose  self-control " 

She  paused,  but  Larry  did  not  speak.  "You  couldn't  want 
me  to  sacrifice  the  little  share  of  life  left  to  him  to  our 
happiness;  I  know  you  couldn't!  Larry,  he's  an  old  man; 
it  can't  be  for  very  long " 

"I  don't  see  that  that  follows,"  said  Larry,  implacably. 
"He  had&strength  enough  to  blackguard  me  very  thoroughly, 
and  it  hasn't  done  him  any  harm.  It  seems  to  me,  I'm  the 
one  to  be  sacrificed!" 

"He  spoke  to  Mother  about  us — about  what  you  said  to 
him.  He  began  about  it  the  instant  he  could  speak. 

She "  Christian  hesitated,  "she  could  only  quiet  him  by 

saying  there  was  no  engagement  between  us." 

"Then  she  said  what  wasn't  true!" 

"Oh,  it  must  be  true!"  said  Christian,  desperately;  "it's 
got  to  be  true " 

"Very  well,"  said  Larry,  moving  away,  so  that  her  hand 
fell  from  his  arm.  "If  it's  got  to  be  true  I  suppose  there's 
no  more  to  be  said.  I  may  as  well  go.  After  all,  I  daresay 
you're  well  quit  of  me.  Your  father  says  I'm  a  damned 
Papist  and " 

"I  won't  listen  to  you!"  broke  in  Christian.  "What's 
the  use  of  hurting  me  and  hurting  yourself  like  this?  Larry, 
I'll  wait  for  you  for  ever — you  know  that — time  will  make 
no  difference.  Don't  make  it  harder  for  me  than  it  must  be!" 

"You  don't  seem  to  think  much  about  me"  said  Larry, 
with  a  still  rage  that  was  a  new  thing  with  him.  He  left 
her  side,  and  walked  steadily  to  the  door;  then  he  turned, 
and  in  a  few  quick  steps  came  back  to  her.  He  put  his  hands 


MOUNT  MUSIC  271 

on  her  shoulders;  he  was  not  much  taller  than  she,  and  his 
eyes  looked  straight  into  hers. 

"Then  it's  true,  is  it?  You're  off  it?  You've  given  me 
the  chuck?" 

He  spoke  roughly,  and  gripped  her  harder  than  he  knew, 
and  in  the  tension  of  her  nerves,  the  roughness  of  the  words 
and  action  cut  her  like  the  stroke  of  a  whip.  Almost  as  if 
he  had  struck  her,  a  splash  of  colour  came  in  her  face. 

Larry  was  blind  to  the  torture  in  her  eyes,  but  he  saw 
the  quick  red,  and  knew  he  had  hurt  her  high  spirit,  and 
was  glad. 

"If  you  like  to  put  it  in  that  way!"  said  Christian,  her 
head  up,  her  mood  answering  his,  "apparently  it  is  the  only 
thing  to  be  done!" 

There  came  a  tap  at  the  door.  Dr.  Mangan's  voice  said: 
"I'm  going  back  to  Cluhir  now.  Haven't  you  to  meet 
Father  Greer  at  twelve  o'clock,  Larry?  I  could  give  you 
a  lift  if  you  like " 


From  an  early  work  on  the  Fauna  of  the  Indian  Forest 
the  following  extract  may  be  quoted: 

"The  elephant's  trunk  then  encircled  the  young  man's 
body,  and  placing  him  gently  upon  its  back,  the  huge  crea- 
ture ambled  away  with  its  prize  to  the  depths  of  the  jungle." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

LITTLE  Mary  Twomey,  footing  it  into  Cluhir  on  a  misty 
Saturday  morning,  with  a  basket  of  fowl  under  her  brown 
and  buff  shawl,  was  not  sorry  when,  from  a  side  road  on  the 
line  of  march,  a  donkey-cart,  driven  by  an  acquaintance, 
drew  forth  at  the  instant  of  her  passing. 

"God  bless  ye,  John  Brien,"  she  said,  when  the  suitable 
salutations  and  comments  on  the  weather  had  been  ex- 
changed, with  the  rigorous  courtesy  observed  by  such  as 
Mary  Twomey  and  John  Brien  with  one  another,  "this 
basket  is  very  weighty  on  me " 

"Put  it  up  on  the  butt,  ma'am,"  responded  John  Brien. 
"Put  it  up,  for  God's  sake,  and  let  you  sit  up  with  it.  Sure 
the  ass  is  able  for  more  than  yourself!" 

This  referred,  with  polite  facetiousness,  to  Mrs.  Twomey 's 
stature,  and  was  taken  by  her  in  excellent  part. 

She  uttered  a  brief  screech.  "Isn't  it  what  they  say  they 
puts  the  best  of  goods  in  the  small  passels?"  she  demanded; 
"but  for  all,  I  wouldn't  wish  it  to  be  too  small  altogether! 
'Look!'  I  says  to  that  owld  man  I  have,  'Look!  When  I'll 
be  dead,  let  ye  tell  the  car-pennther  that  he'll  make  the 
coffin  a  bit-een  too  long,  the  way  the  people'll  think  the 
womaneen  inside  in  it  wasn't  altogether  too  small  entirely !' " 

"Arrah,  don't  talk  of  dyin'  for  a  while,  ma'am!"  said 
John  Brien,  gallantly.  "Aren't  you  an'  me  about  the  one 
age,  and  faith,  when  you're  dyin'  I'll  be  sending  for  the 
priest  for  meself!" 

"Well,  please  God,  the  pair  of  us'll  knock  out  a  spell 
yet!"  responded  Mrs.  Twomey,  cheerfully;  "for  as  little 
as  I  am,  the  fly  itself  wouldn't  like  to  die!" 

272 


MOUNT  MUSIC  273 

John  Brien  did  not  question  this  assertion.  "The  'fluenzy 
is  very  raging  these  times,"  he  remarked. 

"  'Tis  a  nassty,  dirty  disease  altogether,  God  help  us!" 
said  Mrs.  Twomey,  with  feeling. 

"It  is,  and  very  numerous,"  replied  John  Brien.  "There's 
people  dying  now  that  never  died  before." 

This  statement  presented  no  difficulty  to  Mrs.  Twomey, 
since  she  had  no  desire  to  exult  over  Mr.  Brien  as  being 
what  is  often  called  a  typical  Irishman,  and  was  able  to 
accept  its  rather  excessive  emphasis  in  the  sense  in  which  it 
was  intended. 

"I'm  told  Major  Lowry  is  sick  enough,"  went  on  John 
Brien;  "an  impression  like,  on  the  heart,  they  tells  me." 

"He  have  enough  to  trouble  him,"  said  Mrs.  Twomey, 
portentously;  "and  I  wouldn't  wish  it  to  him.  A  fine  man 
he  was.  Ye'd  stand  in  the  road  to  look  at  him!  The  high- 
est gentleman  of  the  day!" 

"Well,  that's  true  enough,"  said  John  Brien,  cautiously. 
"There's  some  says  the  servants  in  the  house  didn't  get 
their  hire  this  two  years." 

"Dirty  little  liars!"  said  Mrs.  Twomey,  warmly.  "Divil 
mend  them,  and  their  chat!  There  isn't  one  but  has  as 
many  lies  told  as'd  sicken  an  ass!  Wasn't  I  selling  a  score 
of  eggs  to  the  Docthor's  wife  a'  Saturday,  and  she  askin' 
me  this  an'  that,  and  'wasn't  it  said  young  Mr.  Coppinger 
was  to  marry  Miss  Christhian  Lowry'?  Ah  ha!  She  was 

dam'  sweet,  but  she  didn't  get "  Mrs.  Twomey  swiftly 

licked  and  exhibited  a  grey  and  wrinkled  finger — "that  much 
from  me!" 

"Ha,  very  good,  faith!"  said  John  Brien;  "them  women 
wants  to  know  too  much!" 

"And  if  they  do  itself,"  retorted  Mrs.  Twomey,  instant 
in  defence  of  her  sex,  "isn't  it  to  plase  the  min  that's  follyin' 
them  for  the  news!  Yis!  An'  they  too  big  fools  to  hear 
it  for  theirselves!" 

John  Brien,  somewhat  stupefied  by  this  home  thrust,  made 


274  MOUNT  MUSIC 

no  reply,  but  smote  the  donkey  heavily,  provoking  it  to  a 
jog  that  temporarily  jolted  conversation  to  death. 

At  the  next  incline,  however,  Mrs.  Twomey  took  up  her 
parable  again. 

"Tell  me  now  awhile,  John,  what  day  is  this  th'  elec- 
tion is?" 

"I  d'no  if  it  isn't  Choosday  week  it  is,"  replied  John 
Brien,  without  interest.  "There's  two  o'  them  up  for  it 
now.  Young  Coppinger,  that  was  the  first  in  it,  and  a 
chap  from  T'prairy.  What's  this  his  name  is? — Burke,  I 
think  it  is.  Sure  they  had  two  meetin's  after  chapel  at 
Riverstown  last  Sunday.  Roaring  there  they  were  out  o* 
mothor-cars.  But  it's  little  I  regard  them  and  their  higs 
and  thrigs!" 

"Why  wouldn't  ye  wote  for  Larry  Coppinger,  John?" 
said  Mrs.  Twomey,  persuasively  "and  him  'All-for-Ireland' ! 
A  strong,  cocky  young  boy  he  is  too ;  greatly  for  composhing 
he  is,  an'  painting,  an'  the  like  o'  that.  Sure  didn't  I  tell 
him  it  was  what  it  was  he  had  a  rag  on  every  bush!  'Well,' 
says  he,  'Mrs.  Twomey,'  says  he,  Til  have  another  rag  on 
another  bush  soon,'  says  he.  'Sir,'  says  I  to  him,  'that  much 
would  not  surpass  your  honour!'  But  faith,  they're  tellin' 
me  now  Burke'll  have  him  bet  out,  and  I'm  sorry  to  me 
heart  for  it." 

John  Brien  looked  from  one  side  of  the  road  to  the  other, 
and  ahead,  between  his  donkey's  ears.  The  mist  was  close 
round  the  cart  as  the  walls  of  a  room;  the  only  sound  was 
the  thin  wind  singing  in  the  telegraph  wires. 

"Mrs.  Twomey,"  murmured  John  Brien,  "the  Clergy  is 
agin  him!" 

"Oh,  great  and  merciful  Lord  God!"  said  Mrs.  Twomey. 
She  said  it  without  either  irreverence  or  reverence.  She 
merely  wished  to  express  to  John  Brien  her  comprehension 
of  the  importance  of  his  statement. 

Larry  had  flung  himself  into  electioneering  as  an  alterna- 
tive to  drink.  That  was  how  he  put  it  to  himself.  He  took 
rooms  at  Hallinan's  Hotel,  in  Cluhir,  in  order  to  be  on  top 


MOUNT  MUSIC  275 

of  the  railway  station,  and  the  situation  generally,  and  he 
had,  moreover,  a  standing  invitation  to  No.  6,  The  Mall, 
for  any  meal,  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night,  that  he  found 
suitable.  The  district  to  be  canvassed  was  a  wide  one,  and 
day  after  day  Larry  and  the  faithful  Barty  went  forth  to 
interview  "People  of  importance";  darkly-cautious  publicans, 
with  wives  lurking  at  hand  to  make  sure  that  "Himself" 
should  do  nothing  rash;  uninterested  farmers,  who  "had 
their  land  bought,"  and  were  left  cold  by  the  differences 
'twixt  Tweedledum  and  Tweedledee;  and  visits  to  "The 
Clergy"  of  all  denominations,  productive  of  much  artificially 
friendly  converse  and  no  very  definite  promises. 

Of  Larry's  own  Communion,  Father  Tim  Sweeny  alone 
announced  himself,  unhesitatingly,  as  being  of  Larry's  camp. 
Father  Tim's  hostility  had  not  been  proof  against  Larry's 
charms,  more  especially  since  these  were  combined  with  a 
substantial  proof  of  the  young  candidate's  interest  in  the 
decoration  of  the  new  chapel ;  and,  at  the  gate  of  that  chapel, 
(the  site  of  which  he  did  not  forget  that  he  owed  to  Larry) 
he  attended  one  of  Larry's  meetings,  and  shook  his  bovine 
head  at  his  flock,  and  bellowed  ferocious  commendation  of 
the  young  man,  who,  he  thundered,  had  not  failed  in  his 
duty  by  the  Church  and  the  people.  There  was  a  down- 
right, fighting  quality  in  Father  Sweeny  that  was  large  and 
stimulating.  Larry  felt  that  he  had,  at  least,  his  own  parish 
firmly  at  his  back,  and  wished  that  he  had  a  few  more  such 
as  Father  Tim  to  stand  by  him. 

The  Rev.  Matthew  Cotton  (stiffened  by  Mrs.  Cotton) 
said  that  to  enter  a  hustings  for  a  Home  Ruler,  of  any 
variety,  would  be  for  him  an  unauthorised  bowing  down  in 
the  House  of  Rimmon,  a  simile  that  conveyed  little  to  Larry, 
and  nothing  at  all,  allegorically,  to  his  agent,  Barty  Man- 
gan,  though  its  practical  interpretation  presented  no  difficul- 
ties to  either  of  them. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Armstrong,  Pastor  of  the  Methodists, 
admitted  to  a  preference  for  an  "All-for-Irelander,"  as  op- 
posed to  an  Official  Nationalist ;  but  evaded  the  responsibility 


276  MOUNT  MUSIC 

of  a  promise  by  saying  that  he  would  lay  the  matter  before 
the  Lord,  and  would  write  later. 

Neither  did  young  Mr.  Coppinger  receive  much  encour- 
agement from  his  own  class.  Bill  Kirby,  indeed,  undertook 
to  support  him  and  even  volunteered  to  go  round  with  him 
on  his  canvassing  expeditions,  but  this  was  considered  by 
Larry's  Committee  as  being  of  questionable  advantage,  even, 
possibly,  affording  to  the  enemy  an  occasion  to  blaspheme, 
and  the  offer  (made,  it  may  be  said,  at  Judith's  instigation) 
was  declined. 

Nor,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  was  Larry  himself  disposed  to 
take  Bill  Kirby 's  proffered  hand.  He  told  himself  that  he 
was  done  with  that  lot.  He  was  bitterly  angry  with  Chris- 
tian. He  said  to  himself  that  he  would  never  forgive  her; 
would  never,  if  he  could  help  it,  see  one  of  them  again.  At 
a  word  from  her  father  she  had  chucked  him;  without  a 
moment  of  hesitation,  without  a  word  to  show  that  she  was 
even  sorry  for  her  father's  treatment  of  him.  "Apparently 
it's  the  only  thing  to  do!"  she  had  said.  That  was  all  she 
thought  of  keeping  a  promise!  What  about  leaving  father 
and  mother  and  sticking  to  your  husband,  he  would  like  to 
know !  These  Protestants  who  talked  such  a  lot  about  read- 
ing the  Bible!  It  was  quite  true  what  old  Mangan  had 
said:  "When  all  comes  to  all,  a  man  must  stick  to  his  own 
Church!"  All  these  others,  these  St.  Georges,  and  West- 
ropps,  and  old  Ardmore,  and  the  rest  of  them,  had  only 
been  waiting  to  jump  on  him  as  soon  as  he  put  a  foot  out 
of  the  rut  they  all  walked  in.  They  had  waited  for  the 
chance  to  make  him  a  pariah.  Now  they  had  it.  All  right ! 
He  could  face  that.  They  should  soon  see  how  little  he 
thought  of  them! 

He  pitched  himself  headlong  into  the  contest.  The 
weather  had  fallen  from  grace.  October,  having  been  borne 
in  on  the  wings  of  a  gale,  was  storming  on  through  wind 
and  wet,  and  the  game  of  canvassing,  that  had  seemed,  on 
that  sunny  day  when  he  had  written  to  Christian,  so  "fright- 
fully interesting,"  was  beginning  to  pall.  Boring  as  were 


MOUNT  MUSIC  277 

the  personal  interviews,  and  exhausting  the  evening  oratory 
in  town  halls  and  school-houses,  the  Sunday  meetings  at  the 
gates  of  the  chapels  were  still  more  arduous.  On  each 
Sunday,  during  the  period  between  the  death  of  Daniel 
Prendergast  and  the  election  of  his  successor,  did  young 
Mr.  Coppinger,  with  chosen  members  of  his  "Commy-tee" — 
he  had  learnt  to  accept  the  inflexible  local  pronunciation — 
splash  from  chapel  to  chapel,  to  meet  the  congregations, 
and  to  shout  platitudes  to  them.  Larry  began  to  feel  that 
no  conviction — however  fervently  held — could  survive  the 
ordeal  of  being  slowly  yelled  to  a  bored  crowd  from  the 
front  seat  of  a  motor  car.  He  told  himself  that  he  had 
become  a  gramophone,  and  a  tired  gramophone,  badly  in 
want  of  winding  up,  at  that. 

It  would  be  of  little  avail  to  attempt  to  define  the  precise 
shade  of  green  of  young  Mr.  Coppinger's  political  flag; 
whether,  as  a  facetious  supporter  put  it,  it  was  "say-green, 
pay-green,  tay-green,  or  bottle."  It  is  enough  to  say  that 
it  varied  sufficiently  from  that  of  Mr.  Burke  to  provide  their 
respective  followers  with  a  satisfactory  casus  belli.  The 
shades  of  political  opinion  in  Ireland  change,  and  melt  and 
merge  into  each  other  as  the  years  pass,  even  as  the  colours 
of  her  surrounding  seas  vary,  deepening  and  paling  with  the 
changing  clouds,  yet  affecting  only  the  surface,  leaving  the 
sullen  depths  unchanged.  Larry  knew  no  more  of  Ireland 
than  a  boy  can  learn  in  his  school  holidays;  it  was  only  by 
degrees  that  he  realised  that  in  Ireland,  as  he  now  found  it, 
the  single  element  of  discord  that  remained  ever  unchanged 
was  Religion.  He  had  spent  the  four  most  recent  and  most 
receptive  years  of  his  life  in  an  atmosphere  in  which  religion 
had  no  existence.  The  hem  of  its  raiment  might,  perhaps, 
have  been  touched,  when,  as  sometimes  happened,  the  subject 
of  a  studio  composition  was  taken  from  the  Bible,  or  the 
Apocrypha.  Then,  possibly,  would  the  young  pagans  jf 
Larry's  circle  discover  as  much  acquaintance  with  the  Scrip- 
tures as  would  point  a  jest,  and  give  an  agreeable  sensation 
of  irreverence  in  discussing  the  details  of  the  subject. 


278  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"There,"  thought  Larry,  "no  one  thought  about  your 
religion.  No  one  cared  if  you  had  one,  and  the  presumption 
was  that  you  hadn't."  But  here,  in  these  little  Irish  towns, 
the  question  of  a  man's  private  views  on  a  matter  that  might 
be  supposed  to  concern  only  himself,  appeared  of  paramount 
importance.  He  listened  to  denunciations  of  Protestants 
until  he  felt,  as  he  told  the  faithful  Baity,  that  "for  tup- 
pence" he  would  change  over  himself;  just  as  in  some  sec- 
tions of  the  rival  camp,  he  would  have  heard  to  weariness 
of  the  bigotry  and  errors  of  Romanism.  He  was  brought, 
as  many  people  more  God-fearing  than  he  have  been  brought, 
to  debate  the  question  as  to  whether  a  common  atheism  were 
not  the  only  panacea  for  the  mutual  hatreds  that,  as  ap- 
peared to  him  from  his  present  point  of  view,  ruled  the 
Island  of  Saints.  He  and  Barty  would  sit  up  over  the  dying 
embers  of  the  dining-room  fire  of  No.  6,  The  Mall,  talking; 
wrangling,  in  a  sort  of  country-dance  of  argument,  in  which 
they  advanced  and  retired,  and  joined  hands,  and  flung 
away  from  each  other  again;  ending,  generally,  in  such 
agreement  as  might  be  found  in  a  common  determination 
to  lay  ail  the  blame  for  all  the  malice  and  uncharitableness 
at  the  door  of  the  clergy  of  the  two  creeds;  a  comprehensive 
decision,  and  a  consoling  one,  from  the  point  of  view  of 
two  laymen. 

Larry,  in  his  loneliness,  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of 
frequenting  No.  6;  of  "taking  pot-luck,"  of  "dropping  in," 
or  of  "turning  in,"  all  of  which  courses  had  been  urged 
upon  him  by  his  captor,  Dr.  Mangan.  Those  great  and 
special  gifts  of  the  Mangan  family,  the  love  of  music,  and 
the  habit  of  it  (which  are  not  always  allied)  bestowed  upon 
the  household  a  charm  that  was  almost  more  potent  for 
Larry  than  any  other  could  have  been.  At  the  end  of  a 
long  day  of  canvassing,  spent  with  companions  who,  he  felt, 
only  half  trusted  him,  and  were  incapable  of  being  amused 
by  the  things  that  amused  him  (a  factor  in  friendship  that 
cannot  be  valued  too  highly)  it  was  comforting  to  "drop 
in"  to  the  hospitable,  untidy  house,  where,  thanks  to  Mrs. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  279 

Mangan  s  early  experiences,  there  was  always  good  luck  in 
the  pot,  and  to  spend  a  peaceful  evening  over  the  fire,  smok- 
ing, and  listening  to  the  famous  Mangan  Quartet.  Music 
was  the  initial  point  of  contact  between  Larry  and  these 
people  among  whom  he  had  once  more  been  cast,  and  the 
Big  Doctor  was  not  unaware  of  the  fact.  Singly,  or  united, 
the  Mangan  voices,  mellow,  tuneful,  singing  songs  of  Ire- 
land with  artless  grace  and  charm,  wrought  more  in  Larry's 
soul  than  he  was  aware  of.  Not  only  to  his  ears,  but  to 
his  eyes  also,  the  Mangan  Quartet  brought  artistic  satisfac- 
tion. The  Big  Doctor,  with  his  sombre  face  and  overhang- 
ing brow,  looking,  in  the  lamplight,  like  a  Rembrandt 
burgomaster;  Barty  and  his  mother,  pale  and  dark-eyed, 
recalling  Southern  Italy  rather  than  Southern  Ireland;  and 
Tishy — Larry's  eyes  used  to  dwell  longest  on  Tishy,  her 
face  lit  by  her  most  genuine  feeling,  the  love  of  music,  while 
her  voice  of  velvet  (of  purple  velvet,  he  decided)  mourned 
for  Patrick  Sarsfield,  or  lamented  with  Emer  for  Cuchulain, 
or  thrilled  her  listener  with  the  sudden  glory  of  "The  Foggy 
Dew."  Larry's  own  voice  was  habitually  exhausted  by  the 
cart-tail  oratory  in  which  he  daily  expended  it;  it  was 
enough  for  him  to  listen  and  look,  shutting  his  mind  to  the 
past,  living,  as  ever,  in  the  present;  like  a  wise  man,  because 
its  bounty  sufficed  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

AT  a  little  before  this  time  a  sufficiently  epoch-making  scene 
had  taken  place  between  Dr.  Mangan  and  his  daughter, 
following  not  long  on  that  day  when  the  elephant  had 
conveyed  his  captive  to  the  depths  of  the  jungle. 

"Tishy!"  said  the  Big  Doctor,  looming  large  at  the  door 
of  the  dining-room  where  his  daughter  was  engaged  in  trim- 
ming a  hat,  "come  down  to  the  surgery  a  minute;  I  want 
you." 

The  feather  to  which  Miss  Mangan  had  just  imparted  the 
correct  "set,"  was  only  fixed  in  position  with  a  precarious 
pin,  none  the  less,  Tishy,  albeit  vexed,  did  not  delay.  She 
had  a  well-founded  respect  for  the  Fifth  Commandment, 
as  far,  at  all  events,  as  her  father  was  concerned.  She 
abandoned  the  hat,  and  followed  the  Doctor  through  the 
narrow  hall-passage  and  into  the  surgery,  with  a  promptness 
that  she  was  not  wont  to  exhibit  in  obeying  an  order  that 
was  not  convenient. 

Dr.  Mangan  had  seated  himself  at  his  desk,  and  was  writ- 
ing. Tishy  stood  by  the  seat  dedicated  to  patients;  she 
wished  to  imply  that  she  had  been  interrupted  in  her  work, 
and  that  her  time  was  of  value. 

"There  now,"  said  Dr.  Mangan,  thumping  the  envelope 
that  he  had  just  closed  and  directed,  on  the  blotting-paper, 
with  his  big  fist,  "I  want  you  to  run  round  to  Hallinan's 
with  this  for  me." 

"Is  it  a  hurry?"  asked  Tishy,  unwillingly. 

"It  is.  It's  to  order  rooms  for  Larry  Coppinger.  He's 
coming  to  stay  in  town  till  the  election's  over.  Sit  down 
there  a  minute." 

280 


MOUNT  MUSIC  281 

Tishy  obeyed,  and  the  Doctor  surveyed  her  attentively. 
The  position  that  is  assigned  to  patients  in  a  doctor's  con- 
sulting room  is  one  that  faces  the  light,  pitilessly,  inescap- 
ably; but  for  Tishy,  this  was  a  negligible  disadvantage.  A 
peacock  butterfly  looks  its  best  in  sunlight,  and  Tishy 's  dark 
bloom,  and  intent  eyes  of  luminous  grey,  faced  the  glare  of 
October  sunlight  with  confident  unconcern. 

"A  right-down  handsome  girl!"  he  had  called  her,  to 
himself,  more  than  once;  now,  he  thought,  she  had  good 
looks  enough  for  any  man  in  Europe.  It  was  not  his  habit 
to  betray  his  feelings;  but  as  he  sat  there,  appraising  her, 
weighing  her  beauty,  as  a  jeweller  might  appraise  some  rich- 
hued  ruby  that  a  kind  fate  had  placed  in  his  hands,  sheer 
pride  in  her  made  him  smile,  and  he  was  hard  put  to  it  to 
keep  up  the  severity  that  he  believed  the  occasion  exacted. 

"I've  a  couple  of  things  to  say  to  you,"  he  resumed,  "and 
you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  I've  no  fancy  for  saying 
things  twice.  I've  seen  Ned  Cloherty  sneaking  about  the 
Mall  very  often  lately — like  as  if  he  was  waiting  for  some- 
body. I'm  not  saying  it's  for  you  or  me  he's  waiting;  you 
might  know  that  better  than  I  do.  But  he's  no  great  orna- 
ment to  the  view  there,  or  anywhere  else,  as  far  as  I  can 
see!" 

Tishy  put  her  strong,  rounded  chin  in  the  air,  and  said, 
"I  suppose  other  people  have  a  right  to  use  the  roads  as 
well  as  us!" 

The  Doctor  was  glad  that  his  face  was  shadowed,  as  he 
noted  the  arrogant  tilt  of  her  head,  and  the  smooth,  cream- 
white  pillar  of  her  neck  that  it  revealed,  since  the  smile  of 
paternal  pride  would  not  be  denied.  He  didn't  blame  Ned 
Cloherty  to  be  sneaking  about  after  her;  there  wasn't  her 
like  in  the  county.  But  she  very  certainly  was  too  good  for 
the  likes  of  Ned  Cloherty.  "Now,  Babsey,"  he  said,  and 
Tishy  knew  that  the  old  pet  name  denoted  a  satisfaction 
with  her  that  might  not  otherwise  betray  itself,  "you're  a 
sensible  girl,  and  I  needn't  go  out  of  my  way  to  tell  you 
things  that  you're  smart  enough  to  see  for  yourself.  You're 


282  MOUNT  MUSIC 

'pert  enough  without  Latin' — as  they  say!  Well,  I'll  just 
say  one  other  thing  to  you,  and  it's  this.  Larry  Coppinger's 
up  for  this  election,  and  I've  told  him  to  use  this  house,  like 
his  own,  as  much  as  he  wants  to,"  the  Doctor  stood  up  and 
took  a  pocket-book  from  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat. 
"You're  to  make  it  agreeable  for  him  to  come  here.  Mind 
that!  And  more  than  agreeable!  I'll  think  very  little  of 
you  if  you  don't  have  him  at  your  feet  before  you're  done 
with  him!"  he  went  on,  selecting  something  from  among  the 
papers  in  the  pocket-book  as  he  spoke.  "There's  not  a  girl 
in  Ireland  that  wouldn't  half  hang  herself  for  the  chance 
3-ou'll  have!  And  there's  not  a  girl  in  Quhir  but  will  be 
gibeing  you  if  you  lose  it!"  He  took  a  step  towards  where 
Tishy  was  sitting,  and  put  his  hand  under  his  chin. 

Her  bright  water-grey  eyes  were  alight  with  mutiny; 
she  laughed  defiantly. 

"Suppose  I  don't  want  it !" 

Her  father  looked  steadily  at  her;  he  saw,  as  clearly  as 
if  she  had  spoken,  that  the  suggestion  had  excited  her. 

"Well,  Babs,"  he  said,  with  the  laugh  that  always  seemed 
an  octave  higher  than  matched  with  his  voice,  "if  you're 
able  to  bring  him  to  your  feet — and  I'm  not  saying  you  will! 
You  might  find  it  a  bit  of  a  job  too! — you'll  want  a  dandy 
pair  of  shoes  on  them!  Put  this  in  your  pocket." 

He  had  taken  a  ten-pound  note  out  of  his  pocket-book, 
and  he  pushed  it  into  Tishy's  strong  and  supple  white  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

GREAT  pain  paralyses  the  mind,  as  the  torture  of  a  limb 
makes  the  limb  faint  and  helpless.  When  the  heart-pain 
can  be  dealt  with  as  a  separate  thing,  it  is  no  longer  supreme. 

This  was  the  difference  between  Christian  and  Larry. 
Her  love  was  herself,  indivisible,  a  condition  of  her  being. 
When  it  ceased,  it  would  mean  that  the  creature  that  called 
herself  Christian  Talbot-Lowry  had  ceased  also.  During 
the  long,  bright  morning,  after  Larry  and  Dr.  Mangan  had 
departed  together,  she  felt  that  this  had  happened;  that 
the  part  of  her  that  knew  and  suffered  had  gone  away,  or 
was  lying  dead  in  her.  There  was  a  weight  in  her  breast, 
she  could  feel  it,  but  she  scarcely  felt  pain,  only  a  great 
bewilderment,  an  incredulity  that  this  thing,  of  whose  reality 
her  mind  told  her,  but  without  conviction,  should  have  hap- 
pened to  her,  just  precisely  to  her,  out  of  all  the  people 
in  the  world.  People  have  felt  this  when  that  iron  shutter 
that  is  called  Death  has  fallen  between  them  and  that  one 
who  was  their  share  of  the  world.  A  part  of  them,  some 
plausible  imitation  of  them,  can  speak  and  act,  and  be  ex- 
tolled, perhaps,  for  facing  the  music  stoutly;  while  the 
stricken  thing  that  is  themselves,  is  lying  prone  before  the 
iron  shutter;  beating  on  it  with  broken  hands,  calling,  and 
hearing  no  answer. 

It  was  nearly  a  month  now  since  Dick  Talbot-Lowry  had 
asserted  his  paternal  rights,  and  had,  following  various  classic 
and  biblical  precedents,  sacrificed  his  daughter  to  his  own 
particular  formula;  of  religion  and  politics.  He  would  never 
know  that  it  had  been  the  appeal  that  weakness  makes  to 
strength  that  had  given  him  his  victory.  When  he  spoke  to 

283 


284  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Lady  Isabel  of  his  scene  with  Larry,  he  told  her  that  he  had 
nipped  the  thing  in  the  bud.  The  damned  puppy  of  a  fellow 
took  for  granted  that  Christian  was  in  love  with  him;  but 
here  she  was,  going  about  as  usual,  as  jolly  as  a  sandboy; 
"in  fact,"  Dick  would  say,  plastering  up  with  bromidic 
mortar  the  windows  of  the  narrow  dwelling  wherein  dwelt 
Lady  Isabel's  soul,  "all's  well  that  ends  well !"  With  which 
valuable  aphorism,  sanctioned  by  a  long  and  respectable  past, 
the  Major  contentedly  fed  his  heart,  and  tranquillised  that 
of  his  wife. 

Judith  was  less  confident  of  the  satisfactory  end  of  all 
things.  She  was,  in  fact,  exceedingly  indignant  that  an 
engagement  so  entirely  advantageous  from  all  practical 
points  of  view  should  be  broken  off;  "simply  to  gratify 
Papa's  imbecile  prejudices!"  she  declared,  with  her  usual 
emphasis.  "Christian,  you  were  a  fool  to  mind  what  he 
said  or  did.  He  wouldn't  have  died!  Not  a  bit  of  him! 
Of  course,  Mother  has  got  to  agree  with  him — that's  what 
he  married  her  for!" 

"Don't  tire  me,  Judy,  please,"  Christian  would  say, 
serenely.  "It's  all  over  now.  These  discussions  only  weary 
me.  I  assure  you  my  philosophy  is  quite  equal  to  the 
strain!" 

"If  that's  the  case,  I  don't  know  why  you  should  look  like 
a  dying  ghost !" 

Judith  had  never  entirely  compiehended  her  younger 
sister,  and  she  found  her,  as  she  said  with  indignation  to 
the  concurring  Bill,  absolutely  dark  and  inscrutable  over 
the  whole  affair. 

"I  know  it's  hit  her  hard,  but  nothing  will  make  her 
admit  it.  I  detest  Spartan  Boys!"  said  Judith. 

The  Spartan  Boy  in  question,  though  aware  of  her  sister's 
ardent  desire  to  investigate  her  wounds,  had  no  intention 
of  removing  the  cloak  that  covered  them.  She  wrapped  it 
close  about  her,  so  close  that  Lady  Isabel,  while  unable  to 
stifle  a  motherly  regret  for  the  wedding  that  might  have 
been,  thanked  heaven  that  Christian  had  not  "really  cared"; 


MOUNT  MUSIC  285 

so  close  that  even  Judith  said  that,  since  Christian  had  not 
been  hit  too  hard,  though  she  regretted  the  coup  manque, 
she  personally  found  some  consolation  in  the  fact  that  she 
would  not  be  called  upon  to  make  apologies  for  the  political 
aberrations  of  her  brother-in-law. 

The  polling  day  came,  and  passed  with  but  little  excite- 
ment. 

"You  wouldn't  har'ly  know  it,"  said  a  voter,  who  had 
returned  to  his  normal  avocations  after  a  morning  wasted, 
as  he  considered,  in  the  task  of  recording  his  vote.  "There 
was  a  few  men  drunk  in  the  town.  Which  won  is  it? 
Bedad,  they  dunno  yet.  Father  Sweeny  it  was  marched  in 
the  Pribawn  boys.  Faith,  he  had  them  well  regulated. 
Very  nate  they  marched,  very  nate  entirely.  They  never 
were  in  such  rotation!" 

The  voter  bent  melancholy  and  slightly  bloodshot  eyes 
upon  Christian,  and  awaited  her  reply. 

Christian,  with  her  usual  miscellaneous  company  of  dogs, 
was  on  her  way  to  visit  a  woman  whose  husband  had  died 
not  long  before.  Her  way  took  her  along  the  banks  of  the 
Broadvvater,  and  during  one  of  the  frequent  pauses,  neces- 
sitated by  the  investigations  into  the  private  affairs  of  water- 
rats  and  others,  made  by  her  companions,  she  and  Peter 
Callaghan  had  exchanged  greetings.  He  and  Christian  had 
fallen  into  talk,  with  the  absence  of  formality  that  is,  per- 
haps, peculiar  to  intercourse  between  his  class  and  hers.  He 
leant  upon  his  scythe,  and  discoursed  seriously  and  courte- 
ously. He  wore  a  soft,  slouched  black  hat,  that  did  not 
wholly  conceal  his  thick  and  curly  hair,  in  which  there 
was  scarcely  a  grey  strand,  though  he  was,  as  he  told 
Christian,  the  one  age  with  her  father.  His  white  flannel 
jacket  was  wrapped  round  him,  its  skirts  pushed  under  the 
band  of  his  brown  frieze  trousers.  A  red  wisp  of  rag  was 
knotted  round  his  middle,  and  held  all  together.  His  pale 
grey  and  wistful  eyes  looked  at  Christian  from  above  a 
tangled  thicket  of  grizzled  moustache  and  beard.  He  sug- 
gested almost  equally,  a  conventional  Saint  Joseph  and  a 


286  MOUNT  MUSIC 

stage-brigand — a  brigand,  as  It  might  be,  who  had  joined 
the  Salvation  Army.  "As  old  as  I  am,"  he  returned, 
dreamily,  to  the  affair  of  the  morning,  "I  stepped  it  away 
with  them!" 

He  turned  his  eyes  from  Christian's  face  to  the  large  and 
sliding  brightness  of  the  river. 

There  followed  a  moment  of  silence  that  was  filled  by 
the  yelps  of  the  little  dogs  who  had  marked  a  water-rat  to 
ground,  and  the  hobble-de-hoy  shouts  of  the  hound  puppies, 
uttered  with  no  definite  idea  of  the  cause  of  their  enthu- 
siasm, but  none  the  less  enthusiastic  for  that  reason. 

"Are  you  the  youngest  young  lady,  I  beg  your  pardon?" 
Peter  Callaghan  asked  presently.  "It's  long  since  I  seen 
you.  Your  father  knows  me  well.  I  remember  of  one  time 
when  the  hounds  was  crossing  my  land,  and  I  seen  yourself 
and  your  sisther  taking  the  hur'ls.  I  cries  out  to  ye  'me 
heart'd  rise  at  ye,  my  darlins!'  and  the  Major,  he  laughs!" 

"I  remember  jumping  the  hurdles,"  said  Christian;  'Til 
tell  my  father  I  met  you." 

"He  gave  me  permission  to  cut  the  'looha'  in  these  fields," 
resumed  Peter  Callaghan.  "I'm  thankful  to  him.  I  have 
a  good  sop  of  it  cut." 

He  waved  a  hand;  Christian  saw,  at  a  little  distance,  a 
heap  of  rushes,  and,  seated  on  it,  a  girl,  of  whose  presence 
she  had  been  unaware.  She  was  very  pale,  and  there  was  a 
fixity  of  sadness  about  her.  Christian  spoke  to  her,  but  she 
did  not  appear  to  notice. 

"She's  my  daughter,"  said  Peter  Callaghan  in  his  quiet 
voice.  "She  wouldn't  know  it  was  to  her  you  spoke.  She's 
dark,  the  creature.  Blinded  she  is.  She's  not  long  that 
way." 

"How  did  it  happen?"  said  Christian,  in  a  low  voice. 

"You  could  not  say,"  said  Peter  Callaghan;  his  dreamy 
eyes  roved  again  over  the  broad  river;  "God  left  a  hand 
on  her,"  he  said. 

Christian  went  on  her  way,  and  the  words  stayed  with 
her.  "God  left  a  hand  on  her."  There  had  been  no  resent- 


MOUNT  MUSIC  287 

ment  in  the  father's  voice,  only  a  profound  and  noble  £tavity. 

"And  here  am  I,"  thought  Christian,  "angry  and  whim- 
pering  " 

Mrs.  James  Barry  lived  a  mile  or  so  farther  down  the 
river.  Christian  gathered  up  her  pack  of  terriers,  hound 
puppies,  and  red  setters,  with  the  farm  collie  to  complete  its 
absurdity,  and  walked  fast.  October  was  just  ending;  the 
willows  along  the  river-bank  were  yellow,  the  reeds  in  the 
ditches  that  ran  beneath  each  fence  were  greying  and  wither- 
ing. The  successive  profiles  of  wood  and  hill,  down  the 
valley  of  the  river  went  from  orange  and  brown  to  a  reddish 
purple,  until,  in  the  large  serenity  of  the  autumn  evening, 
they  softened  to  the  universal  blue  of  distance. 

Mrs.  Barry's  farm-house  stood  a  little  back  from  the  river. 
A  stream  that  widened  to  a  pond,  and  narrowed  again  to  a 
stream,  divided  the  house  from  the  fields  that  ran  between 
it  and  the  river;  the  decent  thatched  roofs  and  whitewashed 
walls  of  the  farm,  and  the  elm  trees  that  grew  beside  it, 
were  mirrored  in  the  pond.  A  flotilla  of  geese  and  ducks 
paraded,  in  stately  fatuity,  to  and  fro  across  the  mirror.  A 
battered  little  wooden  bridge,  painted  green,  enabled  the 
people  of  the  farm  to  reach  the  banks  of  the  river.  Christian 
crossed  it,  and  went  up  to  the  open  door  of  the  house. 

In  the  kitchen  a  red-haired  woman  was  seated,  rocking  a 
wooden  cradle  with  her  foot  while  she  stitched  at  a  child's 
frock.  Hens,  with  their  alert  and  affected  reserve  of  manner, 
stepped  in  and  out  of  the  doorway,  sometimes  slowly,  with 
poised  claw,  sometimes  headlong,  with  greedy  speed.  Chris- 
tian watched  them  and  the  hound  puppies  (in  whose  power 
of  resistance  to  temptation  she  had  no  confidence),  while 
she  talked  to  the  woman  of  the  house,  and  heard  the  story 
of  her  trouble. 

Her  husband  had  been  "above  in  the  hospital  at  Rivers- 
town.  He  was  in  it  with  a  fortnight,"  said  the  red-haired 
woman  in  the  idiom  of  her  district,  the  noise  of  the  rocker 
of  the  cradle  on  the  earthen  floor  beating  through  her  words; 
"he  had  a  bunch,  like,  undher  his  chin,  and  they  were  to 


288  MOUNT  MUSIC 

cut  it."  She  paused,  and  the  wooden  bump  of  the  cradle 
filled  the  pause. 

"When  they  had  it  cut,  he  rose  up  on  the  table,  and  all 
his  blood  went  from  him;  only  one  little  tint,  I  suppose, 
stopped  in  him.  Afther  a  while,  the  nurse  seen  the  life 
creeping  back  in  him.  'We  have  him  yet!'  says  she  to  the 
Docthor.  'I  thought  he  was  gone  from  us!'  says  the  Doc- 
thor."  The  voice  ceased  again.  The  speaker  slashed  the 
frock  in  her  hand  at  an  over-bold  hen,  who  had  skipped  on 
to  the  table  beside  her  and  was  pecking  hard  and  sharp  at 
some  food  on  a  plate. 

"They  sent  him  home  then.  We  thought  he  was  cured 
entirely.  He  pulled  out  the  summer,  but  he  had  that  langer- 
some  way  with  him  through  all." 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  then  she  looked  at  Christian, 
with  grief,  crowned  and  omnipotent,  on  her  tragic  brow. 

"As  long  as  he  was  alive,  I  had  courage  in  spite  of  all, 
but  when  I  thinks  now  of  them  days,  and  the  courage  I  had, 
it  goes  through  me!"  Her  red-bnnvn  eyes  stared  through 
the  open  door  at  the  path  twisting  across  the  field  to  the 
high  road. 

"Ye '11  never  see  him  on  that  road  again,  and  when  I  looks 
up  it  me  heart  gets  dark.  Sure,  now  when  he's  gone,  I 
thinks  often,  if  he'd  be  lyin'  par'lysed  above  in  the  bed,  I'd 
be  runnin'  about  happy!" 

When  Christian  went  home  Mrs.  Barry  walked  with  her 
to  the  little  green  bridge,  and  stood  there  until  her  visitor 
reached  the  bend  of  the  river  where  the  path  passed  from 
her  sight. 

At  the  turning  Christian  looked  back  and  saw  the  lonely 
figure  standing  at  the  bridge-head,  and  again  she  said  to 
herself:  "Here  am  I,  angry  and  whimpering!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

DOCTOR  MANGAN  told  himself  that  he  had  never  laid  out  a 
ten-pound  note  to  better  advantage  than  the  one  he  had 
pushed  into  the  heel  of  Tishy's  fist.  It  had,  as  he  thought 
it  would,  clinched  the  matter.  He  had  never  been  unaware 
of  the  menace  of  Cloherty,  R.A.M.C.,  but  he  was  confident 
in  the  three  forces  that  he  had  at  his  command — authority, 
bribery,  and  propinquity. 

"If  I  know  my  young  lady,"  he  said  cheerfully  to  himself, 
"she'll  think  more  of  Larry  at  her  elbow,  than  of  that  foxy 
devil  back  at  Riverstown"  (which  was  the  present  scene  of 
Captain  Cloherty 's  professional  labours).  "And  what's 
more,  if  Tishy  will  only  give  her  mind  to  it,  it'll  take  a 
stiffer  lad  than  Master  Larry  to  be  man  enough  for  her! 
She  downed  him  once,  and  she'll  do  it  again,  in  spite  of 
Christian  Lowry!" 

Even  as  the  Big  Doctor  thought,  there  were  many  more 
that  fought  for  him  in  this  matter  than  against  him.  Potent 
had  been  his  suggestion  to  his  daughter  that  there  wasn't  a 
girl  in  Cluhir  that  wouldn't  "be  gibeing  at  her"  if  she  lost 
so  golden  an  opportunity,  nor  one  that  would  believe  she 
had  not  half  hanged  herself  to  secure  it.  (And  though  it 
has  not  been  possible  to  include  them  in  this  chronicle,  it 
may  be  accepted  that  there  were  many  girls  in  Cluhir  of 
the  lively  malevolence  of  whose  gibes  Tishy  was  entirely 
sensible.)  Even  more  potent  was  the  pull  of  Larry's  posi- 
tion, the  prestige  of  his  money,  of  his  "place,"  of  his  good 
looks;  most  potent  of  all,  the  fact  of  his  nearness,  the  mere 
primary  fact  that  he  was  a  young  man,  in  whose  company 
she  was  daily  thrown,  whose  unattached  status  (the  Doctor 
had  kept  his  own  counsel  as  to  that  interview  with  Christian, 

289 


290  MOUNT  MUSIC 

and  his  deductions  therefrom)  was  a  continual  challenge  to 
her  charms,  whose  mere  presence  was  an  excitement  and 
a  stimulus. 

As  the  polling  day  approached,  and  effort  became  more 
strenuous,  Larry  fell  ever  more  gratefully  into  the  habit  of 
No.  6,  The  Mall.  Of  coming  in,  in  the  gloom  of  the  wet 
afternoon,  and  finding  Tishy  mending  her  gloves,  or  stitch- 
ing something  all  lace  and  ribbons,  something  that  would 
obviously  blossom  into  a  "Sunday  blouse,"  but  that,  with  a 
flash  of  her  grey  eyes,  she  would  tell  him  was  "poor-clothes," 
that  the  Nuns  had  asked  her  to  make.  Of  sitting  on  the 
big  sofa  beside  her,  and  teasing  her  about  Captain  Cloherty, 
and  the  adventure  in  which  Tinker  took  a  leading  part. 

"If  you  go  telling  tales  to  the  Doctor,  you'll  be  sorry!" 

"How  can  you  make  me  sorry?" 

"Wait  awhile  and  you'll  find  out!  There  are  plenty 
ways  to  teach  little  boys  manners!  Oh,  look  now  what 
you've  done!  You've  made  me  pull  the  thread  out  o'  me 
needle.  Thread  it  now,  you!" 

Then  Larry,  with  his  quick  eye  and  steady  hand,  would 
annoy  her  by  threading  it  as  deftly  as  she  herself  could 
have  done,  would  possibly  contribute  some  enormous  stitches 
to  the  confection,  and,  by  the  time  its  construction  was 
seriously  resumed,  the  collaborators  on  the  big  sofa  would 
have  advanced  a  stage  further  on  the  road  through  the 
jungle,  that  had,  with  so  much  foresight  and  patience,  been 
prepared  for  them. 

Young  Mr.  Coppinger's  hopes  and  fears  as  to  his  prospects 
of  becoming  a  Member  of  Parliament  varied  no  more  than 
was  suitable  in  the  possessor  of  the  artistic  temperament, 
but  Barty,  his  agent  in  chief,  maintained  an  attitude  of  un- 
broken pessimism.  That  whisper  of  the  secret  and  late- 
declared  antagonism  of  the  Church  had  reached  him,  and 
in  the  secure  seclusion  of  his  own  office  he  inveighed  against 
clerical  interference  with  all  the  fierceness  of  a  dog  chained 
in  his  kennel,  who  knows  that  his  adversaries  are  as  unable 
to  touch  him  as  he  is  to  injure  them.  Only,  in  Barty's  case, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  291 

he  was  quite  sure  that  his  barkings  were  unheard,  and  he 
would  have  been  exceedingly  alarmed  had  he  thought  other- 
wise. 

"I  declare  to  God  I  don't  care  what  way  it  goes !"  Larry 
had  said  many  times,  but  most  often  when  fatigue  and  dis- 
couragement had  together  taken  control. 

Such  times  had  come  more  often  during  the  last  week 
before  the  election,  and  they  reached  their  climax  on  the 
evening  of  the  polling  day.  The  two  young  men,  mentally 
and  physically  demoralised  by  fatigue,  had  at  length,  at  an 
hour  considerably  past  midnight,  escaped  from  their  col- 
leagues, and,  having  gained  the  sanctuary  of  Barty's  office, 
were  drearily  reviewing  the  position  by  the  light  of  a  smoky 
lamp  and  over  the  ashes  of  a  dead  fire;  counting  possible 
votes,  making  unconvincing  calculations  based  on  supposi- 
tion, wading  hand-in-hand  ever  deeper  into  the  Slough  of 
Despond. 

"I  was  talking  to  your  father  this  evening,"  said  Larry, 
lighting  a  cigarette  and  letting  himself  fall  into  an  ancient 
rocking-chair.  "He  wouldn't  give  me  an  opinion  one  way 
or  the  other,  but  it's  my  belief  he  thinks  it's  a  bad  chance." 

"I  believe  he's  done  his  best  for  you,"  said  Barty,  dubi- 
ously; "but  the  way  he's  situated,  he  doesn't  like  to  come 
out  too  strong  one  way  or  the  other." 

"Quite  right  too;  I'm  a  rotten  proposition,"  said  Larry, 
"and  this  dam'  cigarette  won't  draw!" 

"I  could  stand  getting  licked,"  went  on  Barty,  too  pre- 
occupied to  consider  the  plaints  of  his  principal,  "if  I  thought 
the  Clergy  had  played  fair.  Father  Hogan  and  Father 
Sweeney  stood  to  us  well,  and  I  know  Father  Greer  was  for 
you  at  the  first  go-off;  but  God  knows  what  way  he  and  the 

rest  o'  them  went,  after.  I  wouldn't  trust  them "  His 

dark  and  mournful  eyes  rested  dejectedly  upon  Larry.  "And 
what's  more,  they  don't  trust  you !" 

"They're  perfectly  right,"  said  Larry;  "shows  their  sense! 
You  and  I  are  what  Father  Greer  and  the  rest  of  them 
would  consider  rotten  bad  Catholics,  and  I  believe  they 


292  MOUNT  MUSIC 

know  it!"  He  got  up  from  the  limping  old  rocking-chair, 
and  stretched  himself,  with  a  yawn  that  prolonged  itself 
into  a  howl.  "Oh  Dark  Rosaleen! — or  Kathleen-ni-Houli- 
han — or  anything  else  you  like  to  call  yourself — if  you  only 
knew  how  really  and  sincerely  devoted  I  am  to  you!  I 
believe  I'm  a  perfectly  single-minded  Irish  patriot,  and  yet 
you  won't  believe  in  me,  and  no  more  will  any  one  else, 
except  this  bloody  old  fool  of  a  Barty  here!  Barry  my 
hearty,  I'm  going  to  bed!  I'm  done!  Don't  wake  me  till 
the  news  comes  in "  He  gave  vent  to  another  heart- 
broken yawn. 

"Well,  for  God's  sake  stop  howling  like  a  banshee,  and 
go!"  replied  the  hard-pressed  Barty,  "I'm  about  done  my- 
self!" 

The  opening  Meet  of  the  Broadwater  Vale  Hounds 
chanced  to  take  place  at  Cluhir  Bridge,  on  the  day  after 
the  election.  Larry,  finishing  a  late  breakfast  at  Hallinan's 
Hotel,  heard  the  beloved  sounds  of  the  hunt,  the  pistol-cracks 
of  the  whips,  the  clatter  of  horse-hoofs,  the  jingle  of  bits, 
and  the  steady  paddling  of  hounds'  feet  in  the  muddy  street. 
Joined  with  these  was  the  clamour  of  the  town  curs  and  the 
thunder  of  the  following  rush  of  town  boys  along  Cluhir's 
narrow  pavements.  Larry  ran  to  the  window,  and  opening 
it,  found  himself  practically  face  to  face  with  young  Georgy 
Talbot-Lowry,  riding  a  horse  of  Bill  Kirby's. 

The  sight  of  the  hounds  drove  from  his  mind  the  resolve 
to  have  no  dealings  more  with  the  house  of  Talbot-Lowry. 

"Hullo,  Georgy!"  he  shouted:  "I  didn't  know  you  were 
home " 

Georgy  gave  a  quick  look  at  the  window,  and  directed 
his  gaze  between  his  horse's  ears;  save  that  his  face  had 
turned  as  red  as  his  coat,  there  was  nothing,  as  he  jogged 
on,  to  indicate  that  he  had  either  seen  or  heard. 

Larry  banged  down  the  window,  in  a  state  of  conflagra- 
tion, every  strained  nerve  vibrating.  What  need  to  attempt 
to  recount  what  he  said  or  thought?  Dark  Rosaleen  has 
made  trouble  often  enough  between  nearer  and  dearer  than 


MOUNT  MUSIC  293 

Larry  and  his  young  cousin.  She  will  send  brothers  to 
fight  each  other  to  the  changing  music  of  her  harp,  crowned 
and  uncrowned;  she  will  gather  her  sons  under  the  sign  of 
the  Cross,  and  encourage  them  to  hate  one  another  for  the 
love  of  God.  This  was  only  a  trivial  bit  of  mischief  hardly 
worthy  of  our  attention,  were  it  not  that  it  had  its  share  in 
the  macadamising  of  that  jungle  road  in  which,  as  is  fre- 
quent in  such  routes,  the  preliminary  labour  had  been  under- 
taken by  an  elephant,  under  the  direction  of  a  skilful  mahout. 

It  was  dark  when  the  news  came  to  Cluhir,  six  o'clock  of 
a  wet  night.  The  counting  of  the  votes  had  taken  place 
elsewhere,  and  the  word  was  to  come  by  wire.  Barty  and 
Larry,  with  others  of  the  rival  "Commy-tees,"  had  hung 
about  between  the  post-office,  and  their  respective  offices, 
and  houses  of  call,  all  day.  Many  drinks  had  been  drunk, 
many  bets  been  laid;  before  the  news  came  through,  Larry's 
proclaimed  indifference  as  to  the  result  had  worn  so  thin  as 
to  be  imperceptible.  It  seemed  to  him,  during  the  tedious 
hours  of  that  dark  and  wet  afternoon,  that  success  in  this 
enterprise  was  the  only  thing  left  in  life  worth  having.  To 
triumph,  secretly,  over  that  secret  clerical  opposition,  to  snap 
his  fingers,  openly,  at  Georgy  Talbot-Lowry's  impudence 
and  all  that  it  implied  of  hostility  and  contempt.  These 
were  the  great  objects  of  life,  the  things  that  justified  all 
the  double  dealing,  and  the  lies,  and  the  humbug  of  the 
past  weeks.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  patriotism,  and 
ideals  were  rot.  He  had  claimed  last  night  to  be  a  single- 
minded  patriot,  but  to-day  he  knew  better;  he  had  become 
a  man,  and  had  put  ideals  away,  with  love,  and  other  childish 
things.  The  main  thing  was  to  have  your  desire  of  your 
enemy. 

He  was  standing  in  the  heavy  downpour  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  group  that  waited  outside  the  post-office;  he  was  sick 
with  suspense  and  fatigue,  and  hardly  troubled  to  move  as 
a  motor  came  slowly  nosing  its  way  through  the  crowd. 
It  passed  within  a  few  inches  of  him  and  stopped.  He 
heard  the  Big  Doctor's  voice. 


294  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"Get  into  the  car  out  of  the  rain,"  it  commanded.  "D'y« 
want  to  be  ill  on  my  hands  again?  I'll  run  you  down  to 
No.  6.  Let  Barty  'phone  the  news  to  you.  Isn't  that  what 
he's  for?" 

Larry  was  alone  in  the  dining-room  of  No.  6  when  the 
telephone  summoned  him.  He  had  eaten  nothing  since 
breakfast;  his  hand  shook  with  cold  and  excitement,  and 
he  could  scarcely  hold  the  switch  firmly. 

"Burke,  1047;  Coppinger,  705;"  Barty's  voice  sounded 
flat  and  without  emotion.  "Majority  against  us,  342.  Can 
you  hear?  Adverse  majority,  342!  They've  beaten  us  to 
babby-rags!"  The  voice  ceased. 

Larry  said:  "All  right,  old  chap.  Thanks!"  and  hung 
up  the  receiver. 

He  returned  to  the  dirty,  comfortable  old  sofa  by  the  fire. 

Beaten !  and  Larry  was  used  to  victory.  In  all  his  twenty- 
five  years  of  life,  he  had  never  been  thwarted.  What  he 
wished  to  do,  that  he  did,  in  games,  in  sport,  in  art.  He 
might  have  said,  with  Beatrice:  "There  was  a  star  danced, 
and  under  that  was  I  born!" 

The  first  defeat  he  could  remember  was  the  one  he  had 
suffered  at  Christian's  hands,  and  here  he  was,  turned  down 
again,  twrice  in  a  month! 

"My  luck's  out!"  he  said,  staring  at  the  flickering, 
whispering  fire,  and  feeling  that  ebbing  of  life  which  will 
befall,  even  at  five  and  twenty,  when  exhaustion,  that  has 
been  held  at  bay  by  excitement  and  hope,  comes  to  its  own. 

The  door  burst  open,  and  Tishy  came  swiftly  into  the 
room. 

"I've  just  heard!"  she  said.  "Dad  got  it  on  the  other 
'phone.  It's  a  wicked  shame  and  a  disgrace!  That's  what 
it  is!"  Her  voice  was  hot  with  wrath  and  sympathy;  she 
flung  across  the  room  and  caught  Larry's  hand  and  shook 
it  vehemently.  "The  fools!"  she  cried,  furiously.  "You 
were  too  good  for  them,  that's  what  it  was!  The  dirty, 
low,  common — Oh,  there's  no  words  bad  enough  for  them!" 
Her  eyes  blazed;  she  looked  exceedingly  handsome.  She 


MOUNT  MUSIC  295 

was  moved  by  a  perfectly  genuine  emotion  of  indignation; 
Larry  was  Mangan  property,  and  it  was  not  fitting  that  the 
leading  family  of  Cluhir  should  be  defeated. 

"You  look  half  dead  this  minute!"  she  cried,  pushing 
him  down  on  to  the  sofa  by  the  hand  that  she  had  taken. 
"Sit  down  for  gracious  sake!" 

Again  the  door  opened,  and  from  without  the  Doctor's 
deep  voice  said: 

"Tishy!    Come  here  a  minute,  I  want  you." 

Larry,  sitting  on  the  sofa,  watching  his  wet  boots  steam- 
ing, was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  consolation.  It  was  some- 
thing to  know  that  these  kind  people  cared.  He  heard  the 
light  chink  of  glasses,  and  looked  round,  and  saw  Tishy 
coming  into  the  room,  bearing  a  tray,  on  which  were  a  cake, 
and  wineglasses,  and  a  bottle  of  champagne. 

"Dad  says  he  prescribes  a  little  stimulant!"  said  Tishy, 
gaily,  "the  wire's  cut " 

She  took  the  cork  out  of  the  bottle  with  a  strong,  capable 
hand,  and  filled  two  glasses.  "Drink  that  at  once  now! 
And  I'll  drink  one  drop  myself — just  for  luck!  Here  now! 
Here's  to  the  next  time,  and  you  at  the  top  of  the  poll!" 

"Sounds  as  if  I  were  a  bear!"  said  Larry,  with  a  pale 
smile  at  her,  as  he  lifted  the  glass,  "Clink!"  He  touched 
her  glass,  and  then  drank  the  wine  thirstily. 

"I  was  just  about  cooked,"  he  said  apologetically.  "Aw- 
fully good  of  you  and  the  Doctor " 

"Ah,  don't  be  talking  nonsense!"  interrupted  Tishy. 
"Here,  show  me  your  glass " 

The  glasses  were  very  large  and  old  fashioned;  she  re- 
filled his,  brimmingly.  "Now,  sit  down,  and  drink  that, 
and  eat  a  bit  of  cake.  Not  a  word  out  of  you  now!  Only 
do  as  you're  told!" 

Then,  as  he  obeyed  her,  she  suddenly  knelt  beside  him, 
and  before  he  realised  what  she  was  doing  she  began  to 
unlace  his  boots.  Larry  started  up,  horrified  and  protesting. 

"Sit  down  at  once  and  be  good!"  said  Tishy,  holding 
firmly  to  the  foot  on  which  she  had  begun  operations,  and 


296  MOUNT  MUSIC 

with  a  vigorous  jerk  compelling  him  to  obedience.  "I'll  do 
what  I  choose,  I  always  do!" 

Her  nimble,  white  fingers  made  short  work  of  the  task 
that  she  had  set  herself;  Larry's  remonstrances  availed  him 
nothing.  She  had  insisted  on  refilling  his  glass  a  third  time, 
and  the  wine  had  begun  to  take  away  from  him  the  feeling 
of  reality,  and  to  make  everything  seem  hazy  and  indefinite, 
but  quite  agreeable. 

"There  now!"  said  Tishy,  pushing  the  boots  under  the 
sofa,  "aren't  you  obliged  to  me?  I  often  did  that  for  the 
Doctor,  but  I  never  saw  such  lovely  green  silk  socks  on 
him,  I  can  tell  you!" 

The  champagne  had  made  her  eyes  very  bright;  there 
was  a  look  in  them  that  spoke  to  a  dim  memory  in  Larry's 
cloudy  mind.  She  was  still  kneeling  beside  him,  and  as 
she  prepared  to  rise,  she  rested  one  hand  on  his  knee  to 
help  herself.  Larry  put  his  hand  on  hers,  and  leaned  for- 
ward. Her  brilliant,  challenging  face  was  very  near  his. 
His  memory  cleared  in  a  flash,  and  he  thought  of  the  night, 
long  ago,  when  they  had  played  at  forfeits. 

"  'My  shoe  buckle  or  my  lips'  ?  Do  you  remember  ?" 
he  said,  with  an  unsteady  laugh,  answering  the  challenge. 
"It's  my  turn  now — which  will  you  have?" 

He  did  not  wait  for  an  answer,  but  looking  straight  into 
her  eyes,  he  bent  down  and  kissed  her  laughing,  red  lips. 

The  situation  had  not  materially  changed  when  Dr.  Man- 
gan's  large  presence  was  suddenly  developed  at  the  end  of 
the  sofa.  He  had  come  noiselessly  in,  and  was  surveying  his 
daughter  and  guest  with  a  benedictory  smile. 

"So  that's  the  way,  is  it?"  he  said  quietly. 

The  hot  dream  that  held  Larry,  melted  and  reeled  a  little. 
He  released  Tishy  from  his  enfolding  arms,  and  wondered 
if  he  had  better  risk  standing  up.  He  wished  old  Mangan 
hadn't  come  bothering  in.  He  had  only  just  begun  to  find 
out  how  much  he  liked  Tishy. 

But  he  stood  up,  and  met  the  Doctor's  smile  with  a  guilty 
and  foolish  grin,  holding  on  with  one  hand  to  the  end  of  the 


MOUNT  MUSIC  297 

sofa.  Tishy  continued  to  hold  his  other  hand;  he  felt  as 
if  he  should  fall  if  she  relinquished  it. 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  may  draw  my  own  conclusions  from 
what  I  see?"  went  on  the  Big  Doctor,  in  a  voice  that  oozed 
fatherliness  at  every  syllable.  "Eh,  Larry?" 

Larry  swayed  a  little ;  his  yellow  hair  was  ruffled,  his  blue 
eyes  shone,  he  looked  like  a  child  who  had  just  been 
awakened. 

"Oh  quite  so,  sir,"  he  said,  laughing.  "Apparently  it's 
the  only  thing  to  do!"  which  was  indisputable. 

The  bottle  of  champagne  which  had  played  its  part  so 
ably  was  finished  later  on,  and  the  engagement  was  ratified 
and  celebrated  with  the  pomp  that  was  its  due. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

Miss  LETITIA  MANGAN  was  a  young  woman  of  dauntless 
courage,  who,  as  has  been  said  of  the  sect  spoken  of  by 
detractors  as  The  Black  Prozbytarians,  feared  neither  God 
nor  divil.  To  this  rule  there  were,  however,  in  Tishy's 
case,  two  exceptions  admitted,  and  of  these,  one  was  her 
father,  the  other  Father  Greer.  If,  therefore,  during  the 
days  that  followed,  when  the  streets  of  Cluhir  were,  as  it 
were,  mined  with  congratulations  that  exploded  round  her 
wherever  and  whenever  she  went  abroad,  any  shade  of 
doubt,  any  tenuous  memory  of  the  foxy  devil  back  in  Rivers- 
town  assailed  her,  she  made  haste  to  banish  such  with  the 
thoughts  of  Father  Greer's  pontifical  approval,  and  of  the 
warmth  of  the  paternal  sunshine  that  now  shone  upon  her 
and  her  fiance. 

Cluhir  said  that  it  was  a  very  nice  engagement,  and  a 
great  match;  there  were  not  wanting  those  who  said  also 
that  it  was  wonderful  promotion  for  that  Tishy  Mangan. 
A  tactless  ex-charwoman  had  even  referred  to  young  Mr. 
Coppinger  as  being  Miss  Mangan's  "up-raiser,"  and  having 
enquired,  with  incredulity,  of  Mrs.  Mangan  ("and  this 
before  a  crowd  in  Egan's  shop,  if  you  please!"  as  Mrs. 
Mangan  reported)  "Ma'am!  are  they  in  bonds?"  she  had 
so  fervently  thanked  God  on  hearing  that  such  was  the  case, 
that  Mrs.  Mangan  said  she  could  never  enter  Egan's  again 
without  she'd  feel  they  were  all  laughing  at  her! 

Of  the  fiance  and  of  his  frame  of  mind,  what  shall  be 
said?  He,  at  all  events,  said  as  little  to  himself  as  was  pos- 
sible, but,  in  the  circumstances,  it  was  no  more  than  could 
be  expected  that  a  lively  fancy  would  not  wholly  be  denied, 

298 


MOUNT  MUSIC  293 

and  that  occasional  vagrant  visions  would  present  themselves 
uninvited.  He  pictured  to  himself  a  meeting  with  Christian, 
all  in  the  clouds,  of  course;  he  told  himself  he  had  no  wish 
to  meet  her,  nor,  if  he  did,  was  he  at  all  likely  to  discuss 
the  matter  with  her;  still  he  thought  that  he  would  rather 
enjoy  telling  her  that  he  had  acknowledged  his  engagement 
with  Tishy,  to  Tishy's  father,  in  the  very  same  words  in 
which  she,  Christian,  had  broken  hers  with  him.  They  had 
somehow  stuck  in  his  head.  He  would  tell  her  that.  He 
had  certainly  been  rather  screwed  (but  that  there  would  be 
no  necessity  to  mention) ;  it  was  just  a  curious  chance  that 
he  should  have  used  them.  He  dramatised  the  interview 
in  his  mind.  It  would  serve  Christian  right;  it  would  be 
a  rather  jolly  instance  of  retributive  justice — only  he  wished 
that  the  Christian  whom  he  visualised  was  not  always  that 
shadowed,  ethereal  Christian  whom  he  had  painted,  with, 
as  Rossetti  said,  the  wonder  not  yet  quite  gone  from  that 
still  look  of  hers.  Bother  Rossetti,  anyway!  What  did 
it  matter  what  he  said?  The  main  point  was  what  Larry 
himself  had  said,  and  the  result  was  that  he  was  engaged 
to  Tishy  Mangan,  solidly  and  seriously. 

There  was  nothing  fatiguingly  ethereal  about  Tishy  any- 
how; she  was  just  about  as  good-looking  a  girl  as  he  had 
ever  met  in  his  life.  He  would  take  her  to  Paris  some  day, 
and  would  see  what  his  pals  would  say  to  her.  He  thought 
there  wouldn't  be  two  opinions  about  her  there.  He  and 
she  would  travel  about  a  bit.  He  didn't  feel  as  if  he  would 
care  about  settling  down  at  Coppinger's  Court  at  once. 
Anyhow  he  would  have  to  fix  up  about  Aunt  Freddy.  She 
hadn't  written  him  much  of  a  letter  about  his  engagement; 
she  seemed  to  like  it  just  about  as  well  as  she  had  liked  his 
excursion  into  politics. 

"Of  course  Tishy's  a  Papist!"  he  thought,  mockingly, 
accounting  to  himself  for  the  chill  of  the  congratulations. 
"That's  enough  for  Aunt  Freddy!  But,  hang  it  all,  so  am 
I!  She  ought  to  see  how  suitable  it  is!  I'd  like  to  lay  on 
Father  Greer  to  talk  to  her!" 


300  MOUNT  MUSIC 

There  is  no  need  to  attempt  to  record  in  detail  the  com- 
ments of  the  wider  circle  of  Larry's  acquaintances,  but  it 
may  be  said  that  his  friends  of  all  ranks  had  one  point  in 
common,  a  sincere  admiration  for  Dr.  Mangan.  Bill  Kirby, 
who  had  supported  him  politically,  now  fell  away  from  him. 
Judith  had  not  refrained  from  admitting  him  to  the  secret 
which  she  had  extracted  from  her  younger  sister,  and  Bill's 
references  to  young  Mr.  Coppinger  and  to  Doctor,  Mrs., 
and  Miss  Mangan,  would  have  been  very  helpful  to  those 
ladies,  of  whom  there  were  many,  who  took  the  matter  to 
heart. 

The  unpopularity  of  the  engagement  was  considerably 
aggravated  by  the  extreme  magnificence  of  the  furs,  presented 
by  the  bridegroom  elect  to  his  fiancee,  and  worn  by  her  at  a 
meet  of  the  hounds,  which  she  attended  in  her  father's  motor. 

It  might  have  been  some  consolation  to  the  neighbourhood 
had  it  known  that  those  grey  furs  had  been  of  the  nature  of 
a  peace-offering,  after  a  rather  acute  difference  of  opinion 
on  that  point  of  settling  down  at  Coppinger's  Court  as 
opposed  to  going  abroad.  Larry  had  shelved  it  for  the 
present,  and  had,  as  he  told  himself,  made  good  by  the  dint 
of  the  furs.  That  had  come  out  all  right,  but  now,  Larry, 
mounted  on  Joker,  and  led  in  chains  at  Tishy's  motor-wheel, 
found  that  among  his  former  allies  of  the  hunt  things  were 
not  as  they  once  had  been,  and  was  not  pleased.  Singularly 
enough,  Judith  alone  was  faithful  found  among  the  faithless. 
She  declared  that  Larry  had  been  brutally  and  idiotically 
treated,  and  that  this  engagement  was  the  result,  and  justi- 
fied all  that  she  had  been  saying  for  many  past  ages.  When 
Larry  appeared  at  the  Meet,  his  scalp-lock  prominent  among 
Miss  Mangan's  furs,  Judith  alone  of  his  former  intimates 
met  him  with  cordiality,  condoled  with  him  over  his  election 
defeat  with  sympathy,  and  congratulated  him  on  his  engage- 
ment with  decorum. 

"I  felt  it  was  only  decent,"  she  said  later,  to  the  friend 
to  whom  she  complacently  recounted  her  effort,  "after  he 
had  been  kicked  downstairs  by  Papa,  and  booted  out  of  the 


MOUNT  MUSIC  301 

house  by  Christian,  quite  without  justification.  I  con- 
gratulated him  warmly!  I  absolutely  rode  up  to  the  gorge- 
ous Tishy  and  said  civil  things  there  too!" 

"It  was  perfectly  angelic  of  you!"  said  the  friend. 

"Quite  the  reverse,  my  dear!"  said  Judith,  proudly.  "But 
you  see  Bill  has  the  hounds,  and  anyhow,  I  like  to  prepare 
for  all  contingencies!" 

For  the  rest,  a  chilly  neutrality  reigned  at  the  Meet. 
Larry  was  finding  his  official  position  of  captive  decidedly 
irksome.  He  wished  that  Tishy  would  not  call  him  by  his 
name  every  time  she  spoke  to  him;  that  she  would  not  speak 
so  loud;  that  this  eternal  jog  to  the  covert  would  end 
before  the  Day  of  Judgment;  finally,  that  he  had  stayed 
at  home.  He  saw  the  red-headed  Cloherty,  and,  failing 
more  congenial  society,  joined  him.  But  the  red-headed 
Cloherty  was  crosser  than  any  of  them,  and  what  the  devil 
was  it  to  him  what  Larry's  politics  or  his  matrimonial  in- 
tentions were?  Confound  Cloherty,  anyway!  He  was  a 
sufficiently  common  object  of  the  Cluhir  scene — and  in- 
fernally common  at  that.  Hardly  a  day  that  you  didn't 
meet  him  loafing  about  the  town.  Larry  hadn't  the  smallest 
wish  to  talk  to  Cloherty.  When,  some  brief  time  before 
the  Day  of  Judgment,  they  reached  the  covert,  it  was  drawn 
blank,  and  Bill  Kirby  took  quite  a  month  to  get  the  hounds 
out.  Hunting  rabbits,  of  course.  Larry  never  knew  them 
so  out  of  hand.  And  then  another  rotten  jog  along  the 
road  to  the  next  draw.  Why  on  earth  couldn't  Bill  get 
into  the  country  and  let  them  have  a  school  at  least,  and 
get  away  from  these  damned  motors?  He  was  hoarse  from 
shouting  replies  to  Tishy's  airy  nothings,  all  winged  with 
his  name,  and  all,  he  felt,  addressed  as  much  to  the  public 
as  to  him.  She  looked  stunning,  of  course,  and  he  was 
glad  he  had  given  her  those  furs,  but  three  miles  trying  to 
keep  a  suspicious  fool  of  a  horse  up  to  the  elbow  of  a  car 
roaring  along  at  half  speed,  was ! 

It  matters  not  what  Larry  thought  it  was,  the  point  is 
that  Tishy  thought  it  wasn't,  and,  suddenly  realising  his 


302  MOUNT  MUSIC 

views,  turned  in  one  of  those  instantaneous  furies  of  hers, 
to  the  cavalier  at  the  other  elbow  of  the  car,  who  happened 
to  be  the  red-headed  Cloherty. 

Larry,  neglected,  fell  back,  and  presently  found  himself 
beside  an  old  friend,  Father  David  Hogan,  the  priest  of 
Riverstown.  It  was  nearly  ten  years  since  the  great  days 
of  Father  David's  black  mare;  she  had  passed  into  legend, 
and  Father  David,  something  heavier  than  he  was  but  no 
less  keen,  now  followed  hounds  in  more  leisurely  fashion 
on  the  back  of  the  black  mare's  son,  a  portly  and  careful 
bay  cob. 

"I'm  very  pleased  to  see  you  out,  Mr.  Coppinger,"  Father 
David  began,  the  kindly  little  blue  eyes  twinkling  deep  in 
his  red  face,  confirming  the  assurance  imparted  by  his  ex- 
tensive smile,  that  his  friendship  was  still  unshaken,  "You've 
been  missing  some  nice  hunts." 

"I've  been  too  hard  worked  to  get  out,  Father,"  apologised 
Larry. 

"Ah,  othenvise  engaged,  maybe  ?"  said  Father  David,  with 
a  facetious  stress  on  the  word  engaged.  "I  was  greatly 
put  out  over  the  election,"  he  continued.  "Tell  me  now, 
why  didn't  the  Unionists  support  you?  I  noticed  that  our 
worthy  M.F.H.  came  to  record  his  vote,  but  your  cousin, 
the  late  M.F.H. ,  was,  as  they  say,  conspicuous  by  his 
absence." 

"He's  quite  an  invalid  now,"  said  Larry  shortly. 

"Indeed?  Indeed?  And  is  that  the  case?  I'm  grieved 
to  hear  it!"  Father  David  pressed  the  stout  cob  nearer 
to  Joker,  and  murmured  very  confidentially.  "I've  known 
you  since  your  boyhood  I  may  say,  Mr.  Coppinger,  and 
you  will  not  consider  me  impertinent  speaking  to  you.  But 
could  you  tell  me  is  it  a  fact  what  I'm  hearing  about  the 
good  Major — you,  no  doubt,  have  prior  information " 

"I  think  that's  very  unlikely,"  said  Larry,  sulkily,  flushing 
as  he  spoke. 

Father  David  eyed  Larry  cautiously,  and  began  to  wonder 
IT  something  he  had  been  told  not  long  since  were  true. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  303 

In  Ireland,  it  may  confidently  be  said,  all  things  are 
known  to  the  poor  people,  and  a  brief  consideration  of  this 
position  will  show,  that  this  being  so,  there  is  but  little  that 
is  unknown  to  the  Church. 

"Well,  Mr.  Coppinger,"  Father  Hogan  resumed,  "I'm  told 
— only  told,  mind  you — that  the  Major  had  Mount  Music 
and  the  demesne  advertised  on  the  English  papers " 

"Good  God!"  exclaimed  Larry,  startled  out  of  his  sulk; 
"to  sell?" 

Father  David,  like  other  gentlemen  of  his  age  and  cloth, 
had  the  Baboo's  predilection  for  a  well-worn  quotation.  "As 
to  that  I  cannot  say,"  he  said  portentously.  '  'Tis  whis- 
pered in  Heaven,  'tis  muttered  in  Hell'  that  the  encumbrances 

are  very  heavy — mortgages  and  debts .  The  good  Major 

had  a  long  family,  Mr.  Coppinger;  fine,  dashing  young  min 
they  are  too,  but  we  all  know  that  expenses  do  not  tend 
to  diminish  as  families  grow  up !  Children  may  be  a  heritage 
that  comes  from  the  Lord,  but  unless  other  heritages  accom- 
pany them !"  Father  David  put  his  head  on  one  side, 

and,  beaming  at  Larry,  laid  his  little  professional  joke,  so 
to  speak,  at  his  feet. 

"Well,  well,"  he  resumed,  "  'What  business  is  it  of 
yours?'  says  you!" 

"Not  at  all,  Father,"  said  Larry,  still  shaken  by  what 
he  had  heard.  "Thank  you  for  speaking  to  me — it's  the 
first  I've  heard  of  it." 

The  procession  of  the  hunt  halted,  the  hounds  left  the 
road  by  the  direct  method  of  a  high  stone  "gap,"  and  Father 
David  and  the  bay  cob  melted  away  to  betake  themselves 
to  those  secret  equivalent  routes  known  to  those  who  have 
come  to  years  of  discretion  in  the  hunting-field. 

The  second  draw  seemed  at  first  as  if  it  were  to  be  no 
more  fortunate  than  its  predecessor.  The  covert  was  a  patch 
of  scrubby  woodland  at  a  little  distance  below  the  road, 
at  the  head  of  one  of  the  long  deep  glens  that  were  the 
terrors  of  the  Broadwater  country.  The  wind  blew  from 
the  west,  across  the  wide  cleft  of  Gloun  Kieraun,  and  the 


304  MOUNT  MUSIC 

hounds  were  thrown  into  the  wood  in  which  the  upper  end 
of  the  glen  was  masked,  and  were  encouraged  to  work 
downwards.  An  unaccustomed  wave  of  misanthropy  hat! 
assailed  Larry,  and  instead  of  following  with  the  crow-' 
the  course  of  the  hounds,  he  moved  onwards  along  the  rozd 
scarcely  considering  where  he  was  going.  He  was  thinking 
with  consternation  of  what  Father  Hogan  had  told  him. 
Larry  was  not  of  those  who  nurse  their  wrath  to  keep  it 
warm,  and  the  thought  of  Dick's  misfortunes  swept  away 
the  recollection  of  his  insults.  Joker  had,  of  his  own  initia- 
tive, soon  turned  aside  from  the  high  road  into  a  grassy 
lane,  and  he  moved  along  it  in  the  relentless  manner  in 
which  many  horses  will  decline  to  stand  still  while  Larry, 
deep  in  thought,  allowed  the  reins  to  lie  on  the  horse's 
neck  while  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  tried  to  fix  in  his  memory 
Father  David's  exact  words.  He  thought  he  would  talk 
to  Dr.  Mangan  about  it.  Things  might  be  better  than 
the  eld  priest  thought.  From  the  thought  of  the  doctor 
his  mind  passed  on  to  that  of  his  wedding.  Was  it  possible 
that  he  was  to  be  married  next  week?  A  distinct  physical 
drop  of  the  heart  accompanied  the  realisation.  "Nerves!" 
he  told  himself,  and  hurried  on  to  reflect  upon  his  bride. 
She  certainly  looked  stunning  in  those  grey  furs;  he  was 
glad  he  had  given  them  to  her;  she  knocked  spots  off  any 
other  girl  in  the  country.  He  impressed  this  thought  on 
his  mind.  And  she  had  sung  jolly  well  last  night,  and  had 
accompanied  him  quite  decently.  They  would  get  on  all 
right  once  they  were  married.  She  had  been  a  bit  edgey 
these  last  few  days,  but — some  under-self  warned  him  off 
the  pursuit  of  this  topic.  He  began  to  formulate  excuses 
for  her  that  inculpated  himself.  Larry  "came  of  a  gentle 
kind,"  and  had  the  generous  temper  that  finds  it  easier  to 
bear  than  to  ascribe  blame. 

A  note  of  the  horn  was  wafted  sweetly  across  the  glen, 
and  he  came  to  the  surface  of  his  thoughts.  By  Jove! 
Where  had  Joker  got  him  to  ?  The  lane  they  had  wandered 
down  ran  parallel  with  Gloun  Kieraun,  and  a  gap  in  the 


MOUNT  MUSIC  305 

fence  on  his  left  made  him  aware  that  he  was  now  moving 
abreast  with  the  hunt,  but  was  divided  from  his  fellows  by 
the  chasm  of  the  glen. 

A  second  touch  of  the  horn  came;  Larry  checked  his 
horse;  Bill  Kirby  had  seen  him  and  was  shouting  to  him. 

"Head  him  back  if  he  breaks  your  side!  I  want  him 
this  way!" 

All  jolly  fine  for  old  Bill,  but  where  did  young  Mr. 
Coppinger  come  in?  He  held  up  his  hand  to  show  he  had 
heard,  and  stood  still. 

One  hound  spoke,  sharply,  in  the  depths  of  the  woody 
glen.  Another  and  another  joined  in.  In  a  moment,  the 
echoing  glen  was  full  of  voices;  it  was  impossible  to  tell 
what  was  happening.  A  couple  and  a  half  emerged  on  the 
farther  side  in  the  heather  above  the  trees,  working  a  line 
upwards,  and  speaking  to  it  as  they  went.  Larry  saw  the 
Master  force  his  horse  down  near  them,  and  heard  him 
cheering  them  and  doubling  his  horn.  Another  couple 
joined  them,  and  Larry  swore  heartily.  Here  he  was  on 
the  wrong  side,  and  the  fox  away  to  the  east!  The  cry 
redoubled;  it  sounded  as  if  twice  the  pack  were  engaged, 
yet  the  two  and  a  half  couple  were  not  being  reinforced. 
By  some  chance  Larry  withdrew  his  eyes  from  them,  and 
just  then,  about  a  hundred  yards  further  on,  on  his  side  of 
the  glen,  something  like  a  brown  feather  floated  up  into 
view. 

"A  second  fox,  by  the  living  Jingo!"  whispered  Larry, 
thrilling  to  that  sight  that  never  fails  to  thrill. 

He  held  up  his  hat.  Bill  saw  the  signal,  and  acknowledged 
it  by  redoubled  efforts  to  get  the  hounds  away  with  the  fox 
that  had  broken  to  the  east.  The  chorus  of  sound  grew  and 
grew,  and  as  Joker  and  his  rider,  tense  with  an  equal  excite- 
ment, listened,  it  became  plain  that  the  cry  was  drawing 
nearer  to  them.  Joker's  sensitive  ears  were  twitching,  his 
heart  thumped;  the  storm  of  sound  was  just  below  them 
now,  and  then,  hound  by  hound,  Larry  counted  them  as 
they  came,  fourteen  couples  struggled  up  over  the  lip  of 


306  MOUNT  MUSIC 

the  glen  where  that  brown  feather  had  so  lightly  lifted 
into  view,  and  drove  ahead,  on  the  way  it  had  gone,  with 
a  rush  and  a  cry  that  Larry  could  no  more  have  checked 
than  he  could  have  stemmed  and  driven  back  the  wild  stream 
in  the  glen  below. 

It  may  be  said  at  once  that  he  made  no  such  futile  effort. 
With  a  single  glance  at  the  frenzied  party  on  the  farther 
side,  already  galloping  distractedly  for  a  possible  pass  lower 
down  the  glen,  Larry  released  his  feelings  in  a  maniac  howl 
to  the  fleeting  pack,  and  let  Joker — who  had  already  stood 
up  on  his  hind  legs  twice,  in  legitimate  protest — follow 
them. 

The  fox,  haying  begun  by  running  west,  away  from  the 
glen,  had  then  turned  right-handed,  and  was  heading  north 
over  the  mountain  whose  lower  slopes  were  cleft  by 
Gloun  Kieraun.  The  scent  served  well ;  the  gurgling  music, 
with  now  and  then  a  sharper  note,  like  a  fife  among  flutes 
and  'cellos,  flowed  on,  and  Larry  and  Joker,  two  happy 
creatures,  the  world  forgetting  (though  by  no  means  by  their 
world  forgot)  galloped  and  rejoiced. 

The  little  mountain  sheep  with  their  black,  speckled  faces 
sprang  before  them,  quick  as  rabbits;  green  plover  flopped 
up  from  the  grassy  places,  wheeling  and  squealing;  a  wood- 
cock whirred  out  of  a  furze  bush  so  near  Larry  that  he 
could  have  struck  it  down  with  his  crop.  Long-legged 
mountain  hares  fled  right  and  left  of  the  driving  pack,  un- 
heeded. Great  spaces  of  the  mountain  were  bare  of  fences, 
but  in  those  tracts  where  the  grass  had  mastered  the  heather, 
it  was  "striped"  with  broad  banks,  sound,  and  springy, 
and  bound,  as  with  wire,  by  the  heather  roots.  To  feel 
Joker  quicken  his  big  stride  and  leap  at  the  banks  out  of  his 
gallop,  to  realise  the  perfect  precision  of  his  method,  as  he 
changed  feet  and  flicked  off  into  the  next  field,  to  race  him 
at  the  walls  of  smooth  round  stones,  weathered  in  the  long 
centuries,  and  grey  with  lichen,  and  to  know  that  if  they 
were  three  times  their  height  Joker  would  have  sailed  over 
them  with  the  same  ease — whatever  might  have  been  Larry's 


MOUNT  MUSIC  307 

burden  of  care,  it  would  have  fallen  from  him,  forgotten, 
in  the  pure  glory  of  that  ride. 

The  hounds  ran  hard  for  nearly  a  half  hour  before  they 
checked,  and  Larry  bethought  him  of  those  unfortunates 
between  whom  and  himself  that  great  gulf  had  been  fixed. 
Apparently  they  had  not  found,  any  more  than  the  rich 
man  in  the  parable,  a  means  of  crossing  it.  He  was  high 
above  the  valley;  the  splendid  landscape  lay  in  broad  un- 
dulating ribbons  of  brown  and  green  and  amethyst  and  blue, 
with  the  Broadwater  dividing  it — a  silver  belt,  with  a  band 
of  green  on  its  either  side;  but  within  the  great  circle  that 
was  spread  beneath  his  eyes  were  none  of  those  toiling 
specks  that  tell  of  a  Hunt  in  labour.  The  check  was  brief; 
the  hurrying  hounds,  busy  as  ants,  cast  themselves  right  and 
left  forward,  combining  in  fussy  groups,  that  would  sud- 
denly disintegrate  as  if  by  an  access  of  centrifugal  force; 
crowding  each  other  jealously  along  the  top  of  a  bank,  flop- 
ping into  the  patches  of  bog,  snuffing  greedily  at  the  orange 
stems  of  the  bracken.  Soon,  reiterated  squeals  from  a  lead- 
ing lady  told  that  the  clue  was  found  again,  and  they  began 
to  run,  hard  as  before,  but  downwards  this  time,  as  though 
the  fox  despaired  of  finding  refuge  among  the  high  places 
of  heather  and  rock.  Larry  had  lost  his  bearings;  his  eyes 
on  the  hounds,  his  thoughts  on  his  horse,  he  had  not  even 
tried  to  place  himself.  But  as  the  hounds  ran  on,  south 
and  west,  he  began  to  recognise  familiar  features.  Away 
there  to  the  south,  surely  were  the  trees  of  Coppinger's 
Court;  could  it  be  the  Mount  Music  earths  for  which  the 
fox  was  heading?  The  hounds  were  running  now  down 
hill,  through  crisp,  upland  meadows.  Farmhouses  began  to 
reappear,  thatched  and  whitewashed,  tucked  snugly  in  among 
low  bunches  of  trees;  fences  were  changing  in  character; 
the  amber  streams  ran  less  fiercely,  and  found  time  to  loiter 
in  pools  and  quiet  reaches.  The  hounds  had  begun  to  hunt 
more  slowly,  and  Larry  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Forty-five  minutes  since  they  left  the  glen!     Bill's  just 


308  MOUNT  MUSIC 

about  mad  enough  for  the  asylum  by  this  time!"  he  thought. 
"If  we  could  only  catch  this  lad!" 

But  this  particular  "lad"  was  not  to  gratify  young  Mr. 
Coppinger  by  dying,  classically,  in  the  open,  "on  the  top 
of  the  ground."  Five  minutes  after  Larry  had  taken  the 
time  he  took  it  again,  this  time  at  the  mouth  of  one  of  many 
holes  in  a  sandpit,  wherein,  as  was  announced  by  a  country- 
boy,  "the  lad"  had  saved  himself,  with  "the  dogs  snapping 
at  his  tail." 

"He  earned  it  well,"  said  Larry,  ungrudgingly,  even  though 
the  mask  that  was  to  have  hung  so  carelessly  from  his  saddle 
was  panting  deep  and  safe  in  the  sandpit,  listening  warily 
for  a  possible  eviction  notice  from  the  hunt-terrier  (left,  alas, 
hunting  rabbits  in  the  heart  of  Gloun  Kieraun)  thanking 
its  own  wits  for  the  recollection  of  the  city  of  refuge. 

"Ye're  on  the  lands  of  Finnahy  now,"  said  the  boy.  "Folly 
on  that  way  down,  and  ye'll  meet  the  road.  That's  the 
near  way." 

"Come  on,  you,  and  show  it  to  me,"  said  Larry. 

Amazing  were  the  ramifications  of  the  near  way.  The 
bed  of  a  stream  had  a  share,  and  a  well-trodden  path  along 
the  wide  top  of  a  bank ;  a  brace  of  wheels  had  to  be  trundled 
out  of  one  gap,  a  toothless  harrow  dragged  from  another. 
Then  they  were  on  heather  again. 

"Carry  on  now,"  said  the  guide,  "and  ye'll  meet  a 
pat " 

Larry  needed  no  more  leading;  he  was  on  the  hill  above 
Mount  Music,  Cnocan  an  Ceoil  Sidhe,  and  the  "pat"  that 
was  to  meet  him  was  the  narrow  track  that  led  by  the 
Druid  Stone  and  the  Well  of  the  Fairies. 

The  December  afternoon  was  darkening  to  its  close;  the 
sun  had  made  its  farewell  appearance,  coming  forth  for 
a  moment,  a  half-circle  of  clear  flame,  above  the  long  grey 
cloud  that  barred  the  head  of  the  valley.  Larry  rode  past 
the  great  grey  stone,  and  hardly  turned  his  eyes  toward  it. 
The  hounds,  trooping  meekly  round  his  horse,  went  aside 
to  the  well,  and  drank  long  and  thirstily.  He  did  not  wait 


MOUNT  MUSIC  309 

for  them.  He  put  from  his  mind  the  memory  of  the  last 
time  he  had  seen  from  that  hill-side  the  sun  go  down.  Rather 
he  set  his  thoughts,  resolutely,  on  that  other  last  time,  in 
the  library  of  Mount  Music.  And  he  called  up  Tishy's 
brilliant  face,  framed  in  the  furs  that  he  had  given  her,  that 
it  might  help  him  to  drive  away  other  memories.  He  was 
very  fond  of  Tishy,  he  told  himself;  anyway,  he  was  booked 
to  marry  her  next  week, 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE  small  town  of  Cluhir,  ever  avid,  as  are  all  small  towns, 
of  sensation,  was,  did  it  only  know  it,  about  to  enjoy  a 
week  that  would  long  be  remembered  in  its  history.  Miss 
Mangan's  marriage,  which  alone  would  have  made  an  epoch, 
was  fixed  for  Thursday,  December  I2th;  but  this,  it  need 
scarcely  be  said,  was  a  matter  that,  though  soul-stirring, 
was  devoid  of  the  element  of  surprise.  Not  so,  however, 
was  the  sudden  evacuation  of  Mount  Music.  Father 
Hogan's  indefinite  information  was  as  much  as  was  generally 
known,  but  much  that  was  not  generally  known  was  con- 
fided to  the  discreet  ears  of  Father  Greer,  and  he,  almost 
alone  of  the  inhabitants  of  Cluhir,  was  not  surprised  when 
the  news  went  abroad  that  the  Mount  Music  carriage  had 
conveyed  Major  Dick  and  Lady  Isabel  to  the  station,  and 
that  so  vast  a  mass  of  luggage  had  accompanied  them  as  to 
betoken  a  prolonged  absence. 

That  the  news  should,  in  the  first  instance,  have  been 
communicated  to  Father  Greer  by  Dr.  Mangan,  was  not 
remarkable,  since  Dr.  Mangan's  professional  advice  had  use- 
fully reinforced  his  unofficial  advocacy  of  the  move,  and 
Father  Greer  was  rarely  ignorant  for  long  of  matters  that 
were  found  interesting  by  the  Big  Doctor. 

Not  merely  for  the  sake  of  Major  Talbot-Lowry's  health 
had  this  upheaval  taken  place;  an  even  more  imperious  factor 
had  been  the  state  of  the  family  finances.  The  cloud  of 
debt  that  had  so  long  brooded  over  Mount  Music  was 
lower  and  darker  than  ever  it  had  been  before.  Dick  had 
at  length  been  coerced  into  opening  negotiations  for  the 
sale  of  his  property  to  his  tenants,  but  although,  in  the  full- 

310 


MOUNT  MUSIC  311 

ness  of  time,  these  might  be  expected  to  bear  fruit,  they 
were  of  no  more  immediate  assistance  to  this  over-weighted 
survivor  of  a  prehistoric  species,  than  is  the  suggestion  to  a 
horse  to  live  in  order  that  he  may  get  oats. 

There  was  pressure  in  the  air  over  Mount  Music.  Trades- 
men, whose  suffering  had  been  as  long  as  their  bills,  began 
to  turn,  in  what  had  seemed  like  the  sleep  of  exhaustion, 
and  to  talk  about  solicitors'  letters.  Even  Dr.  Mangan  had 
surprised  and  pained  his  friend,  the  Major,  by  forgetting 
his  wonted  delicate  reticence,  and  hinting,  with  what  struck 
Dick  as  singularly  doubtful  taste,  at  a  repayment  of  those 
loans  that  he  had  volunteered,  offering  as  an  excuse  for  doing 
so  the  expenses  consequent  on  his  daughter's  marriage.  In 
addition  to  these  irritations,  Major  Talbot-Lowry  had  re- 
ceived what  he  justly  considered  to  be  very  annoying  letters 
from  a  firm  of  Dublin  solicitors,  in  connection  with  various 
charges  and  mortgages  on  the  Mount  Music  property,  which 
so  they  informed  him,  had  been  "acquired"  by  them  for 
"a  client,"  and  were  now  to  be  called  in.  Alternatively,  it 
was  suggested,  an  arrangement  might  be  proposed,  whereby 
the  house  and  demesne  of  Mount  Music  might  be  accepted 
in  settlement  of  the  sums  in  question.  The  firm  had  been 
in  communication  with  •  another  creditor,  Dr.  Mangan  of 
Cluhir,  and  it  was  hoped  that  all  Major  Talbot-Lowry 's 
liabilities  might  be  arranged  for  by  the  method  they 
suggested. 

Dick  Talbot-Lowry  received  this  announcement  with  the 
mixture  of  indignation  and  contempt  that  might  have  been 
anticipated  from  an  old-established  Pterodactyl,  who  has 
been  warned  that  his  hereditary  wallow  in  the  Primeval 
Ooze  is  about  to  be  wrested  from  him.  Having  expressed 
these  sentiments  in  suitable  language,  he  said,  lightly,  that 
Fairfax  must  raise  as  much  on  the  property  as  would  keep 
these  Dublin  sharks  quiet,  and  in  the  meantime  he  would 
shut  up  the  house  at  once  and  go  to  London.  Temporary 
retrenchment  was  all  that  was  required.  He  would  let  the 
place.  Some  rich  Englishman  would  jump  at  the  chance — — 


312  MOUNT  MUSIC 

Major  Dick  had  that  optimism  about  his  own  affairs  that 
is  often  combined  with  a  tranquil  pessimism  about  the  affairs 
of  others.  He  said  that  all  he  wanted  was  to  get  clear  of 
the  blood-sucking  swarm  of  hangers-on  that  infested  the 
place.  He  wondered  at  his  own  folly  in  having  endured 
them  for  so  long.  And  it  would  do  Christian  good  to  get 
away.  She  had  been  looking  rather  pulled  down — she  missed 
the  hunting,  of  course.  London  would  do  her  good — would 
be  a  change. 

This,  approximately,  was  what  Dick  said.  What  Lady 
Isabel  said,  being  an  attenuated  echo  of  Dick's  observations, 
is  negligible.  What  Christian  said  was  known  only  to 
Rinka,  the  eldest  of  the  fox  terriers,  who  had  a  habit  of 
sitting  in  the  chair  at  which  Christian  knelt  to  say  her 
prayers,  and  would  then,  with  her  bland  and  balmy  smile, 
extort  confidences  denied  to  any  other  living  creature. 

On  Christian  fell  the  brunt  of  the  arrangements,  the  deci- 
sions, worst  of  all,  the  dismissals.  The  house  (pending 
the  materialisation  of  the  Rich  Englishman)  was  to  be  shut 
up,  so  also  were  all  external  departments,  with  their  workers, 
most  of  whom  Christian  had  known  from  her  childhood; 
it  was  her  hand  that  had  to  cut  the  knot  of  these  old  friend- 
ships. Her  father  and  mother  had  preceded  her,  and  she 
was  left,  alone  in  the  big,  old  house,  with  old  Evans,  .and 
his  down-trodden  old  wife,  to  be  her  ministers,  with  Rinka 
to  be  her  companion,  and  with  the  obliteration  of  her  past 
life  to  be  her  task. 

An  immense  fire  of  logs  and  turf  blazed  in  the  hall  fire- 
place, a  funeral  pyre,  on  which  Christian  cast  one  basketful 
after  another  of  letters,  papers,  ball-cards,  hunt  cards, 
pamphlets,  old  school-room  books,  stray  numbers  of  maga- 
zines, all  the  accumulated  rubbish  that  life,  like  the  leader 
in  a  paper-chase,  strews  in  its  trail;  all  valueless,  yet  all 
steeped  in  the  precious  scent  of  past  happiness,  of  good  times 
that  were  over  and  done  with.  She  spent  those  short,  dark 
days  in  desolation  and  destruction,  and  Rinka  trotted  after 
her,  up  and  downstairs,  in  and  out  of  the  shuttered  bed- 


MOUNT  MUSIC  3U 

rooms,  and  the  gaunt,  curtainless,  carpetless  rooms  down- 
stairs, wondering  what  it  all  portended,  vowing,  in  her  little 
faithful,  cunning  heart,  not  to  let  Christian  out  of  her  sight 
for  a  single  instant. 

The  darkness  and  shortness  of  the  days  was  intensified 
by  the  onslaught  of  a  great  storm;  one  of  those  giant  over- 
whelmings  when  it  seems  that  the  canopy  of  heaven  is  being 
crushed  down  upon  one's  own  little  corner  of  this  earth, 
and  that  all  the  winds  and  all  the  waters  of  the  universe 
are  gathered  beneath  it  to  annihilate  one  insignificant  seg- 
ment of  the  world.  On  Monday  morning,  Christian  saw 
her  father  and  mother  start,  too  agitated  by  their  coming 
journey  to  have  a  spare  thought  for  sentiment;  too  much 
beset  by  the  fear  of  what  they  might  lose,  their  keys,  their 
sandwiches,  their  dressing-boxes,  to  shed  a  tear  for  what 
they  were  losing,  and  had  lost.  And  on  Monday  afternoon 
with  the  early  darkness  the  storm  began.  There  came  first 
a  little  run  of  wind  round  the  house,  like  a  cavalry  patrol 
spying  out  the  land.  There  followed  complete  stillness; 
then  a  few  scattered  drops  of  rain  fell,  and  ceased ;  and 
then,  with  a  heavy,  travelling  roar,  the  wind  came  rushing 
up  the  valley.  It  thundered  in  the  cavernous  chimneys  of 
Mount  Music;  it  bawled  and  whooped  at  the  windows,  and 
shook  them  with  a  human  fury,  as  though  it  were  life  or 
death  to  it  to  get  in,  as  though  it  were  maddened  by  the 
failure  of  its  surprise  attack.  Christian  and  her  ancient 
servitors  ran  from  room  to  room,  barring  shutters,  fastening 
doors,  the  draughts  down  the  long  passages  snatching  at  the 
candle  flames,  the  old  man  and  woman  full  of  forebodings 
and  of  reminiscences  of  former  storms,  that  came  to  Christian 
in  broken  scraps,  through  the  rattle  of  windows  and  the 
shaking  clatter  of  doors  within  the  house,  and  the  shrieking 
rage  of  the  wind  outside.  She  sat  up  late,  sorting  and 
arranging  things  in  her  room.  She  had  none  of  the  fears 
that  might,  for  another,  have  filled  the  empty  house  with 
visitants  from  another  world,  and  might  have  taught  her  to 
listen  for  footsteps  in  the  echoing  passages  and  knocks  on 


3H  MOUNT  MUSIC 

the  shaking  doors.  She  had  always  lived  on  the  borderland, 
and  was  naturalised  in  both  spheres,  but  to-night,  the  voices 
that  had  so  often  given  her  help,  were,  when  she  most  needed 
help,  silent. 

"I  have  nothing  left  now,"  she  said  to  herself,  "but 
memories,  hungering  memories " 

She  was  to  leave  Mount  Music  on  Wednesday,  and  on 
Thursday,  Larry  was  to  be  married  to  Tishy  Mangan. 
What  room  was  there  for  phantom  fears  when  these  things 
were  certainties?  What  spectre  from  the  other  world  has 
power  to  break  a  heart? 

Deep  in  the  night  there  was  a  lull,  a  strange  moment  of 
arrest,  that  endured  for  scarcely  as  long  as  that  one  could 
count  ten,  and  then,  with  the  returning  tempest,  the  rain 
that  had  been  pent  behind  it,  was  hurled  upon  the  world. 
All  that  night,  and  all  the  following  day,  the  rain  was  like 
a  wall  about  the  house.  It  was  flung  in  masses  against  the 
windows,  as  buckets  of  water  are  flung  on  a  deck.  To  look 
forth  was  as  though  one  looked  through  a  dense  sheet  of 
moving  ice.  Gutters,  eave-shoots,  tanks,  overflowed.  The 
sorely-tried  roof  was  mastered,  and  in  all  its  angles  and 
valleys  yielded  entrance  to  the  enemy.  Up  in  the  top  story 
hurrying  drips  beat,  like  metronomes,  all  the  tempi,  from  a 
ponderous  adagio  to  a  racing  prestissimo.  Buckets  and  jugs 
and  baths  filled,  and  were  emptied,  and  filled  again,  the  old 
Evans  pair  waddling  to  and  fro,  elated,  almost  gratified, 
by  the  magnitude  of  their  task.  And  in  the  middle  of  the 
uproar,  late  in  the  afternoon,  a  new  sound  joined  in  the 
chorus  of  the  storm,  the  coarse  and  ugly  summons  of  a 
motor-horn.  Old  Evans  spied  at  the  car  through  the  hall 
window,  and  contrived  to  signal  a  command  to  go  round 
to  the  back  of  the  house. 

"If  I  let  dhraw  the  bolts,"  he  said  to  Barry  Mangan  at 
the  kitchen  entrance,  "the  door  would  fall  flat  on  me!" 

"I  wouldn't  be  surprised  at  all,"  Barty  replied.  "Hardly 
I  could  force  the  car  into  the  storm." 

Christian  was  sitting  on  the  floor  by  the  fireplace  in  the 


MOUNT  MUSIC  313 

hall,  in  the  last  of  the  daylight,  examining  and  burning  the 
contents  of  a  drawer  full  of  miscellaneous  papers,  as  tht 
visitor  made  his  unexpected  entrance  from  the  back,  and 
Barty,  recognising  his  own  improbability  and  unsuitability 
on  such  a  day  and  at  such  a  time,  fell  to  confused  apologies 
that  were  as  incoherent,  and  seemed  as  unlikely  ever  to  end, 
as  the  buzzing  of  an  imprisoned  bee  on  the  window-pane. 
The  fact  at  length,  however,  emerged,  that  there  was  a  map 
of  the  Mount  Music  estate  hanging  in  the  library,  and  that 
the  Major  having  promised  to  lend  it  to  Dr.  Mangan,  had 
forgotten  to  do  so. 

"Some  question  of  boundaries — a  little  grazing  form  m* 
fawther  has "  Barty  said,  nervously. 

The  map  was  found,  was  rolled,  and  wrapped  up,  and 
yet  Barty  sat  on.  He  talked  incessantly,  feverishly.  He 
talked  so  fast,  in  his  low  voice,  that,  in  the  clamour  of 
the  storm,  Christian  could  only  distinguish  an  occasional 
word.  She  had  a  nightmare  feeling  as  if  a  train  were  roar- 
ing through  an  endless  tunnel,  and  that  she  and  Barty  were 
the  sole  passengers,  and  would  never  see  daylight  or  know 
quiet  again.  His  long,  lean  body  was  hooped  into  a  very 
low  and  deep  armchair,  his  thin  hands  clasped  his  knees;  his 
immense  dark  eyes,  fixed  on  Christian's  face,  gave  her  the 
impression  that  what  he  was  saying  was  without  relation  to 
what  he  was  thinking.  In  the  direful  gloom  of  the  hall,  with 
the  rain  and  wind  threshing  on  the  half-shuttered  windows, 
and  the  inconstant  light  of  the  burning  logs  the  sole 
illuminant,  his  pale  face,  with  the  wing  of  black  hair  on  his 
forehead,  looked  like  the  face  of  a  strayed  occupant  of  an- 
other sphere  who  had  resumed  such  an  aspect  as  he  had 
worn  in  his  coffin. 

"Ireland's  a  queer  old  place  just  now,  Miss  Christian," 
Barty  hurried  on.  "Everything's  changing  hands,  and 
everyone's  changing  sides.  You  don't  know  what'll  happen 
next!" 

"I  wish  I  were  not  changing  sides  too,"  said  Christian, 
catching  at  a  sentence,  in  a  momentary  lull  of  the  roaring 


316  MOUNT  MUSIC 

in  the  chimney.  "Sides  of  the  Channel,  I  mean — I  prefer 
this  side!" 

"Do  you?  Do  you?"  said  Barty,  intensely.  "I'm  glad 
you  do!  I  feel  often  as  if  no  one  cared  for  this  miserable 
country  except  for  what  they  could  get  out  of  it!  At  the 
election  it  would  have  sickened  you,  the  bargaining,  and 
the  humbugging,  and  the  lies.  Larry  was  the  only  man  that 
ran  straight,  and  they  jockeyed  him " 

"I'm  sure  you  ran  straight,"  said  Christian,  with  sympathy 
in  her  voice.  Piercing  her  weariness  and  preoccupation  was 
the  feeling  that  he  had  something  to  say  that  lay  under  this 
babble  of  conversation.  He  was  wrapping  himself  in  a  cloak 
of  verbiage,  but  above  the  cloak  his  tormented  eyes  met  hers, 
and  the  pain  in  them  hurt  her. 

"Me?  Oh,  I  only  ran  after  Larry.  I  thought  it  was  a 
shabby  thing  of  the  Unionists  not  to  have  supported 

him "  he  stopped  abruptly,  remembering  Major  Talbot- 

Lowry's  abstention,  remembering  also  the  feud,  of  which 
he  knew  only  that  he  had  never  wholly  divined  its  origin, 
between  Coppinger's  Court  and  Mount  Music.  He  cursed 
himself  for  a  fool.  He  had  not  meant  to  talk  politics,  but 
u-hat  he  had  come  through  the  storm  to  say  was  so  difficult. 
He  looked  at  Christian  with  agony.  Had  she  minded  what 
he  said  about  the  Unionists?  He  began  to  talk  again,  very 
fast  and  incoherently. 

"Miss  Christian,  I  said  awhile  ago  everything  was  chang- 
ing in  Ireland.  There's  big  changes  coming,  even  here- 
abouts, things  I  couldn't  believe  would  ever  happen.  I've 
recently  learned  a — a  fact — a  statement  that  I'm  not  at 
liberty  to  repeat.  I  was — I  may  say  that  I  was  shocked — 

but  Miss  Christian "  the  agony  in  his  eyes  was  in  his 

voice.  "Oh!  Miss  Christian,  for  God's  sake,  believe  that  I 
knew  nothing  of  it  till  this  day!" 

He  stood  up,  steadying  himself  with  a  hand  on  one  of  the 
high  marble  pillars  of  the  mantelpiece. 

"Knew  nothing  of  what?"  said  Christian,  thinking  she 
had  mistaken  what  he  had  said. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  317 

"I  can't  tell  you — you'll  know  soon  enough — only  I'm 
just  asking  you  to  believe  that  I  had  neither  part  nor  lot 
in  it!" 

Christian  had  risen,  and  was  standing  up;  he  came  a 
step  nearer. 

"I  just  want  you  to  understand,  Miss  Christian,  that  in 
this  world  there  is  no  one  I  regard  like  you — no  one,  nor 
ever  was,  nor  ever  will  be — but  don't  mind  that,  I  only 
want  to  say  that  if  there  is  anything  in  this  earthly  world 
that  it's  in  my  power  to  do  for  you,  or  that  I  could  help 
you  in  anny  shape  or  form,  you  will  be  showing  the  kindness 
and  mercy  of  God  if  you  will  let  me  do  it  for  you." 

He  was  trembling,  and  his  voice  shook,  but  his  nervous- 
ness was  gone.  "The  kindness  and  mercy  of  God !"  he  said 
again.  "I  would  feel  it  to  be  that — oh,  God!  I  would!" 
The  tortured  spirit  in  his  eyes  had  given  place  to  another 
spirit,  whose  emotion  Christian  could  neither  mistake  nor 
respond  to,  yet  its  kinship  with  the  immutable  fidelity  that 
was  in  her  heart  made  an  appeal  that  she  could  not  refuse. 

"Be  sure  I  will  ask  you,"  she  said,  with  the  pity  that  her 
own  heart-loneliness  had  taught  her  in  her  voice.  "I  can't 
understand  what  it  is  that  you  think  may  happen;  it  seems 

to  me  as  if "     She  broke  off,  held  by  the  thought  that 

disaster  could  hardly  have  another  arrow  in  its  quiver  for 
her.  "You  may  be  sure  if  I  think  you  can  help  me,  I  will 
ask  you.  I  know  I  could  rely  on  you,"  she  said,  pushing 
back  her  own  trouble,  meeting  his  wild  eyes  with  hers,  stead- 
fast and  compassionate. 

"I'm    more     than     thankful — grateful — you've    only    to 

speak "   he  stumbled   and   stammered   with   wo  re  3  that 

were  all  inadequate  to  his  feeling.  "I  won't  detain  you; 
I'm  taking  your  time  too  long  as  it  is — and  I'll  have  a  job 
to  get  home  too,  the  river's  rising  every  minute,  and  so  is 

the  storm "     He  somehow  talked  himself  out  of  the 

room. 

Christian  returned  to  her  work  of  destruction.  The  situa- 
tion in  general  had  not  been  made  easier  for  her  by  Barty's 


3i8  MOUNT  MUSIC 

tragic  offer  ot  assistance  in  some  mysterious  and  advancing 
stress,  or  by  the  certainty  that  she  tried  to  shake,  but  could 
not,  of  what  his  eyes  had  said  to  her. 

But  Barty,  as  he  drove  home  through  the  storm,  felt  him- 
self to  be  a  new  man,  consecrate  and  apart,  ennobled  by  her 
promise  to  rely  on  him,  glorified  by  her  look;  and  thanked 
God  that,  when  the  trouble  came,  she  would  remember  that 
he  had  had  neither  part  nor  lot  in  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

THE  storm,  and  the  preparations  for  the  wedding,  raged  on 
with  almost  equal  violence,  within  and  without  the  walls  of 
No.  6,  The  Mall.  From  the  moment  that  daylight  began 
on  the  fateful  Wednesday,  the  day  before  the  wedding,  and 
until  it  ceased,  Mrs.  Mangan's  face  recurred  at  the  window 
of  the  dining  room,  full  of  protest,  primarily  against  the 
arbiter  of  the  weather,  who  had  sent  so  supreme  a  hindrance 
to  all  her  preparations,  secondarily,  against  the  shops  of 
Cluhir,  whose  dilatoriness  in  matters  of  the  highest  im- 
portance "had  her,"  so  she  affirmed  frequently,  "that  much 
distracted,  that  it  would  be  a  comfort  and  a  consolation  to 
her  if  she  were  stretched  cold  in  her  grave." 

At  intervals  during  the  feverish  day,  beings  would  come 
rushing  through  the  torrents,  like  trout  in  a  swirling  brook, 
and  would  fling  themselves  and  their  parcels  in  through  the 
door  that  Mrs.  Mangan  was  generally  ready  to  open  for 
them.  Frantic  messages  from  bridesmaids  about  their  cos- 
tumes, belated  wedding  presents,  all  the  surf  and  foam  that 
is  flung  up  by  the  waves  of  a  wedding,  broke  upon  No.  6. 
The  bride  elect,  pale  and  preoccupied,  ("pale,"  that  is  to 
say,  "for  Tishy,"  as  one  of  her  compeers  observed,  "flushed 
for  any  one  else!")  wrote  notes,  and  exhibited  presents,  and 
packed  clothes,  and  rode  the  tempest  with  a  fortitude  that 
was  worthy  of  the  Big  Doctor's  daughter.  But  even  Tishy 
began  to  fail  as  darkness  drew  in. 

"I  can't  stand  this  house  any  more,"  she  said  to  her 
mother,  "rain  or  no  rain,  I'm  going  out!  i  didn't  see  Mrs. 
Whelply  about  Kathleen's  wreath  that  she  wrote  about " 

"You'll  be  drowned,"  said  Mrs.  Mangan,  doomfully; 
"and  sure  if  Larry  comes  over,  what'll  I  say  to  him?" 

319 


320  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"He'll  not  come!"  said  Tishy,  scornfully.  "What  a  fool 
he  is,  a  day  like  this!" 

"And  they  say  the  river's  up  in  the  houses  down  at  the 
end  of  the  town,"  went  on  Mrs.  Mangan.  "In  the  name 
of  pity  why  wouldn't  you  be  satisfied  to  stay  at  home  for 
this  once,  and  you  leaving  me  for  good  to-morrow!" 

"Well,  I'll  die  if  I  stay  in  this  messed-up  hole  any  longer!" 
said  Tishy.  "I  don't  care  how  wet  I  get " 

Presently  the  front  door  slammed  behind  her;  her  mother 

said  to  herself  that  of  all  the  headstrong  pieces !  And, 

further,  that  she  trusted  in  God  Larry  Coppinger  would  be 
able  to  make  a  hand  of  her;  she  then,  with  the  resignation 
that  experience  teaches  to  defeated  mothers, .  went  to  the 
kitchen,  and  prepared  a  tray  with  tea,  and  carried  it  herself 
up  to  the  Doctor's  surgery. 

"Francis,  may  I  come  in?    I  have  tea  for  you  and  meself." 

"Come  in  to  be  sure,"  replied  Francis,  hospitably.  "I'll 
be  glad  of  a  cup.  Wait  and  I'll  light  the  gas." 

The  Big  Doctor  was  a  faithful  man,  and  loved  his  wife. 
He  treated  her  as  a  slave,  but  it  was  thus  that  she  not  only 
expected,  but  preferred  to  be  treated,  and  the  position  of  a 
favourite  slave  may  not  be  without  its  compensations.  He 
established  her  in  the  Patients'  chair,  arranging  it  so  that 
the  crude  flare  of  the  incandescent  gas  "should  not  be  in  her 
eyes,  and  then  sat  down  in  his  own  huge  chair,  in  comfortable 
proximity  to  her  and  the  tea-tray. 

"Well,  Annie,  me  girl,"  he  said.  "You're  looking  tired 
enough,  but  there  isn't  one  will  touch  you  in  looks  to-morrow 
for  all  that!  Your  own  daughter  included!" 

"Go  on  out  of  that,  Francis,  with  your  nonsense!"  replied 
Mrs.  Mangan,  with  a  coquettish  slap  on  the  Doctor's  great 
round  knee,  "you  ought  to  be  learning  sense  for  yourself 
by  this  time!" 

"Maybe  I'm  not  so  wanting  in  sense  as  you  might  think, 
Annie!"  he  answered,  his  watchful,  grey-blue  eyes  under  the 
over-hanging,  musical  brows,  softening  as  he  looked  at  her. 


MOUNT  MUSIC  321 

"I  think  one  way  and  another,  I  haven't  made  altogether 
such  a  bad  fist  of  things!" 

"Darling  lovey!"  cried  Mrs.  Mangan,  adoringly.  "How 
could  you  think  I  meant  it!" 

"Well,  I  didn't  either!"  said  the  Doctor,  with  a  satisfied 
laugh,  "but  I'm  inclined  to  think  that  I've  done  better  than 
you're  aware  of,  or  that  you  might  give  me  credit  for  either !" 

"All  I'm  aware  of,"  said  Mrs.  Mangan,  sitting  erect, 
with  a  look  of  defiance,  "is  that  there's  nothing  in  this  world, 
no,  nor  in  Ireland  neither,  that  you  couldn't  do  if  you  chose 
to  put  your  mind  to  it!  So  now!  You  needn't  be  talking 
to  me  like  that !  Pretending  I  don't  know  you  after  all  those 


years 


"Well,  listen  to  me  now,"  said  the  Doctor,  well  pleased, 
"Tell  me  what  d'ye  think  of  this  marriage  of  Tishy's?" 

"You  know  well  what  I  think  of  it,  Francis,  and  what 
everybody  thinks  of  it,  too!  The  smartest  and  the 
richest " 

"Well,  that's  all  right,"  interrupted  the  Doctor,  "but 
for  a  woman  like  yourself,  that  sets  out  to  be  fond  of  her 
children,  its  surprising  that  you  didn't  make  a  match  yet 
for  your  son!"  He  looked  at  her  with  indulgent  fondness, 
laughing  at  her,  and  she  gazed  back  at  him  with  her  heart 
in  her  eyes,  and  thought  him  the  king  of  men.  "Well, 
what  have  you  got  to  say  to  that,  Mrs.  Mangan?  It's  well 
for  the  poor  boy  that  his  father  isn't  so  neglectful  of  him!" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Francis?    What  are  you  talking  of?" 

"I'm  talking  of  poor  Barty,  my  dear!"  said  the  Doctor, 
enjoying  himself  intensely,  and  watching  his  wife's  hand- 
some face  with  eyes  that  lost  no  shade  of  its  quick-changing 
expression.  "You've  a  high  opingen  of  him,  I  know!  Would 
you  think  Miss  Christian  Talbot-Lowry  was  good  enough 
for  him?" 

Mrs.  Mangan's  mouth  opened,  in  sheer  stupefaction.  She 
opened  and  shut  it  two  or  three  times  before  speech  came 
to  her. 

"Barty!"  she  panted;   "Miss  Christian   Lowry!     Sweet 


32?  MOUNT  MUSIC 

and  Blessed  Mother  of  God!  Francis,  you're  raving!  Is 
it  my  poor  Barty!  They'd  never  look  at  him!" 

The  Doctor  watched  her  with  triumph  in  his  face.  "Don't 
be  too  sure  of  that!  I  might  have  an  argument  up  my 

sleeve "  he  checked  himself  as  a  nervous  knock  was 

heard  at  the  door.  "Who's  there?  Come  in!  Come  in, 
can't  ye?" 

A  telegram,  the  orange  envelope  dark  with  wet,  was 
handed  to  him.  He  read  it. 

"No  answer,"  he  said,  getting  up  quickly.  "Well,  bad 
manners  to  the  woman!  Such  a  day  to  choose!" 

"What  is  it,  lovey?  Don't  tell  me  it's  a  sick  call!  You 
couldn't  possibly  go  annywhere  this  evening!"  cried  Mrs. 
Mangan,  italicising,  in  her  indignation,  every  second  word, 
"and  for  goodness'  sake,  go  on  and  tell  me  what  was  the 
argument  you  said  you  had?" 

"My  dear,  I  couldn't  go  into  it  properly  now.  I'll  tell 
you  another  time.  I'm  bound  to  go,  and  as  quick  as  I  can, 
too!  Run  now,  like  a  good  girl,  and  tell  Barty  or  Mike  to 
get  the  car  ready  in  a  hurry.  That  wire  was  from  Hannigan 
that  lives  below  Riverstown.  He  says  his  wife'll  die — she's 
very  bad,  I'm  afraid — I'm  booked  for  the  job  this  long 
time " 

Mrs.  Mangan,  loudly  expostulating,  though  wise  in 
obedience  from  experience,  flew  from  the  room  with  her 
message,  and  speedily  returned  to  find  the  Big  Doctor  still 
hurrying  about  the  surgery,  making  his  preparations,  and 
talking  as  he  went. 

"I  mightn't  be  back  till  morning,  but  I'll  not  miss  the 
wedding,  don't  be  afraid!  I'll  come  as  soon  as  I  can,  I 
promise  you  that!" 

"Oh,  Francis,  love,  I  hate  to  see  you  go  out  this  awful 
night,"  wailed  Mrs.  Mangan,  following  him  into  the  little 
hall,  and  dragging  his  fur-lined  coat  off  a  peg,  and  holding  it 
for  him;  "and  this  scorf,  my  darling,  put  it  on  you  before 
you  ketch  your  death.  Will  you  take  Mike  with  you?" 

"I  will  not.     He'll  be  wanting  here.     Don't  delay  me 


MOUNT  MUSIC  323 

now.  Good-bye,  girlie!"  He  kissed  her.  Then  he  opened 
the  door,  and  with  a  roar,  the  wind  and  the  rain  hurled 
in,  with  a  force  that  staggered  him,  big  as  he  was. 

"Well,  such  a  night!"  lamented  Mrs.  Mangan,  for  the 
twentieth  time,  clinging  to  the  door;  "I  wish  to  God  the 
telegraph  wires  were  down  before  they  could  send  for  you! 
Oh,  will  you  take  care  of  yourself  now,  Francis?" 

"Of  course  I  will !  Go  in  out  of  the  wet "  he  pushed 

himself  in  under  the  low  hood  of  the  car,  and  glided  into 
the  darkness. 

A  doctor  is  a  dedicated  man.  He  accepts  risks  with  a 
laugh,  and  toil  with,  perhaps,  a  grumble,  but  he  does  not 
flinch.  Obscure  and  inglorious  perils  are  his,  and  hardships 
that  only  himself  can  gauge.  Be  sure  that  they  are  not 
unrecorded.  They  shine,  and  their  splendour  is  hidden, 
like  those  lanterns  that  were  hidden  under  the  coats  of  the 
lantern-bearers.  But  there  is,  very  surely,  some  screen,  sen- 
sitive to  its  rays,  on  which  that  light  is  thrown,  that  will 
some  day  show  us  what  we  have  been  too  self-centred  to 
realise,  and  will  dazzle  us  with  the  devotion  to  which  we 
are  now  too  much  habituated  to  admire. 


CHAPTER  XL 

IT  was  Barty  who  had  brought  out  the  car,  and,  on  his 
father's  departure,  he  released  the  grip  of  the  railings  that 
had  enabled  him  to  keep  his  footing,  and  was,  literally, 
blown  into  the  house. 

"Shut  the  door,  my  Pigeon-pie!"  said  his  mother,  "the 
wind's  too  strong  for  me." 

Barty  was  too  well  accustomed  to  this  expression  of  his 
mother's  affection  to  resent  it,  and  having  done  her  bid- 
ding, he  followed  her  into  the  Doctor's  room,  which  alone 
had  a  fire  in  it. 

"Nothing  would  please  Tishy  only  to  go  down  to  the 
Whelplys,"  complained  Mrs.  Mangan,  poking  the  fire,  and 
seating  herself  in  front  of  it  with  a  long,  groaning  sigh  of 
exhaustion;  "some  nonsense  about  a  wreath.  A  wreath 
indeed!  Any  one'd  be  lucky  that  kept  their  hair  on  their 
heads  in  this  wind,  let  alone  a  wreath!  You'll  have  to  go 
fetch  her,  my  poor  boy!  I'll  not  be  easy  till  I  see  her  and 
Pappy  home  again!  I  thought  maybe  Larry  might  have 
come  over,  but  I  declare  now  I'm  glad  he  did  not." 

"Larry's  not  like  himself  lately,"  said  Barty,  sitting  down 
in  his  father's  chair,  and  taking  from  his  pocket  a  paper 
packet  and  extracting  a  crushed  cigarette  from  it.  "I  think 
the  loss  of  th'  election  disappointed  him  greatly." 

"  'Twas  well  he  had  Tishy  to  console  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Mangan,  "it  was  in  the  nick  of  time  she  cot  him!" 

"It  was,"  replied  Barty,  tepidly.  "I  think  also,"  he  went 
on,  "he's  put  out  about  his  aunt  not  coming  down  for  the 
wedding,  and  even  young  Mrs.  Kirby  away.  It's  funny  to 
think  Coppinger's  Court  and  Mount  Music  are  empty  now, 

324 


MOUNT  MUSIC  325 

the  two  of  them — or  will  be  after  to-morrow.  Miss  Chris-* 
tian  went  to-day." 

("See  now  how  he's  talking  of  her!"  thought  his  mother. 
"I  wonder  did  Francis  say  anything  to  him?")  Aloud  she 
said:  "It's  a  pity  she's  gone,  but  it  mightn't  be  for  long." 

"I  saw  her  yesterday.  The  Doctor  sent  me  there  for  a 
map,"  said  Barty,  with  elaborate  unconcern. 

("Look  at  that  now!"  again  commented  Mrs.  Mangan 
to  herself.  "How  well  they  never  told  me  he'd  gone  to  see 
her!  Aren't  men  a  fright  the  way  they'll  hide  things!**) 

"She's  a  sweet  girl,  my  Pidgie,"  she  resumed,  to  her  son, 
"And  Pappy 's  always  said  the  same  thing." 

Barty  looked  at  her  like  a  horse  prepared  to  shy.  Had 
his  father  said  anything  to  her?  The  longing  to  speak  of 
Christian  had  mastered  him,  but  if  his  mother  knew 

"I  think  I'd  better  go  for  Tishy  now,"  he  said  abruptly, 
"It  might  be  a  job  to  get  down  the  town  later  on." 

He  left  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Mangan,  in  her  husband's  big 
chair,  by  his  big  fire,  fell  into  tired  yet  peaceful  ease  of 
body  and  mind.  How  wonderful  was  Francis!  Who  but 
he  would  have  dared  to  aspire  for  his  children  as  he  had  ? 
He  had  secured  for  Tishy  the  very  pick  of  the  country; 
and  now,  her  own  darling  Barty!  Was  it  possible?  Yes! 
It  was,  if  Francis  said  so!  But  what  was  "the  argument 
he  had  up  his  sleeve?"  Never  mind!  Francis  would  tell 
her  when  he  came  home.  There  was  no  hurry.  But  again, 
how  wonderful  was  Francis! 

She  fell  asleep.  Barty  woke  her,  coming  into  the  room, 
dripping  and  shining  in  oilskins  and  sou'wester,  like  a  life- 
boat man. 

"I  couldn't  get  further  than  West  Street,  Mammie,"  he 
said,  still  breathless.  "I  had  on  my  waders,  but  the  water 
was  up  over  them.  They  had  boats  going  about,  I  believe, 
but  I  couldn't  get  hold  of  one.  Tishy'll  have  to  stay  the 
night  at  the  Whelplys'.  I  met  a  man  that  told  me  there 
was  a  big  flood  in  the  river,  and  haystacks,  and  cattle,  and 
r.ll  sorts,  coming  down  in  it.  It  was  up  over  the  line,  and 


326  MOUNT  MUSIC 

the  train  hardly  got  out.  It  was  near  putting  out  the  engine 
fires." 

"Oh,  my  God!"  said  Mrs.  Mangan,  with  her  big  eyes 
that  were  so  like  Barty's  fixed  on  his,  "the  Riverstown 

road!  Oh!  Francis! "  she  groped  at  the  front  of  her 

blouse  for  her  Rosary,  her  lips  moving  in  hasty  supplication, 
her  eyes  wild,  roving  from  her  son's  face  to  the  blackness 
of  the  window.  Suddenly  she  thrust  back  the  Rosary. 

"Why  do  you  tell  me  these  things?"  she  cried,  furiously, 
"you  great  omadhcrun!  Is  it  to  frighten  me  into  my  grave 
you  want?  Is  it  nothing  to  you  that  your  father's  out 
alone?  Oh  God!  Oh  God!  Why  couldn't  he  think  of 
me  as  well  as  of  that  damned  woman  away  at  Riverstown !" 
She  began  to  cry,  wildly,  her  forehead  pressed  against  one 
of  the  streaming  panes  of  the  window.  "Oh  Francis, 
Francis ! " 

There  were  many  more  than  Mrs.  Mangan  and  her  son 
that  sat  up  all  through  that  night  in  the  Valley  of  the 
Broadwater.  Trembling  people  in  little  low-lying  cottages, 
with  thatched  roofs  held  in  place  with  ladders,  and  ropes, 
and  stones,  with  doors  and  windows  barricaded  against  the 
wind.  But  of  what  avail  are  barricades  against  the  creeping 
white  lip  of  water,  crawling  in  under  the  doors  over  the 
earthen  floors,  soaking  in  through  mud-built  walls,  coming 
against  them  at  first  as  a  thief  in  the  night,  falling  upon 
them  later  as  a  strong  man  armed? 

From  the  lower  side-streets  of  Cluhir  the  people  fled  be- 
fore the  flood  to  any  shelter  that  the  upper  parts  of  the  town 
could  offer  them.  Ghastly  stories  were  told  of  drowned 
cattle  that  were  swept  against  the  closed  doors,  and  came 
pushing  and  banging  at  the  windows,  carried  there  by  their 
conqueror  as  it  were  with  mockery,  to  entreat  for  the  succour 
that  was  too  late. 

When  the  pale  dawn  looked  out  through  wind-torn  clouds, 
it  saw  a  half-mile  breadth  of  racing  water  where  had  been 
pasture-fields;  the  yellow,  foam-laced  river  was  half  way  up 
the  tall,  slender  arches  of  Cluhir  Bridge,  lapping  ever  higher, 


MOUNT  MUSIC  327 

as  if  in  envy,  to  hide  the  sole  beauty  of  the  ignoble  town. 
Trees,  and  hayricks,  broken  boats,  and  humble  pieces  of 
cottage  furniture,  jostled  each  other  between  the  piers,  toss- 
ing and  dancing  in  grotesque  gaiety,  like  drunken  holiday- 
makers  on  their  way  to  the  sea.  The  great  river  that  is 
credited  with  exacting  six  lives  each  year,  was  claiming  its 
toll.  How  many  it  took  that  December  night  does  not  now 
concern  us,  save,  indeed,  where  one  sad  house  was  in  ques- 
tion, where  a  wife  and  a  son  waited  a  long  night  through 
for  the  man  who  would  not  return  to  them. 


Down  below  Cluhir,  at  Mount  Music,  old  Evans  crept 
out  of  the  shuttered  house,  and  fought  his  way  in  the  wind, 
amid  fallen  trees,  down  to  the  big  river,  to  see  what  still 
stood  of  the  boathouse.  The  boathouse  had  weathered  out 
the  night.  Its  roof  had  held,  its  door  stood  firm.  Old  Evans 
surveyed  it  with  pride. 

"Aha!  Protestant  building!"  he  said,  old  inveterate  that 
he  was. 

Then  he  saw  on  the  submerged  bank,  amid  a  debris  of 
broken  rushes,  and  clots  of  foam,  and  branches,  something 
that  he  knew  instantly  for  what  it  was.  The  drowned  body 
of  a  man. 

Cautiously,  and  holding  by  shrubs  and  tree-stems,  he 
reached  the  place,  where,  half  ashore,  half  lying  in  thin  flood 
through  which  tufts  of  grass  were  showing,  with  arms 
stretched  out,  grasping  at  the  shore,  the  intruder  lay.  Old 
Evans  knew  well  that  fur-collared  coat.  Often  enough  he 
had  held  it  for  the  Big  Doctor.  He  had  no  need  to  turn 
the  defeated  face  from  its  pillow  in  the  broken  reeds.  He 
stared  down  at  the  man  whom  he  had  hated,  with  something 
of  pity,  more  of  cynicism. 

"Well,  ye  wanted  Mount  Music!"  he  said,  at  last.  "How 
d'ye  like  it  now  ye've  got  it?" 


328  MOUNT  MUSIC 

The  things  that  a  man  has  accomplished  we  sum  him  up 
by,  and  the  things  of  which  he  was  capable,  and  did  not 
accomplish,  are  of  no  account,  and  the  net  that  held  him 
is  of  a  mesh  beyond  the  vision  of  most. 

Who  shall  pity  the  Big  Doctor,  or  blame  him  over-much? 
He  died  in  the  fullness  of  his  powers,  with  his  ambitions, 
as  he  believed,  attained.  He  knew  himself  to  be  a  good 
son  of  the  Church,  a  faithful  husband,  a  successfully-schem- 
ing father.  What  his  priest  thought  of  him  is  known  only 
to  his  priest,  but  we  may  be  sure  he  regretted  him.  A  jury 
of  his  peers  would  have  approved  him  in  his  every  action. 
If  the  paths  that  he  had  followed  were  sometimes  tortuous, 
along  many  of  them  he  had  been  guided  by  the  ankus  of 
that  mahout  in  whose  directions  his  faith  had  taught  him  to 
confide.  He  had  lived  according  to  the  light  that  he  had 
received,  and  in  his  last  act  he  took  his  life  in  his  hand,  and 
gave  it  for  another. 

For  my  part,  I  believe  that  the  Big  Doctor  viewed  with 
a  justified  composure 

".  .  .  that  last 

"Wild  pageant  of  the  accumulated  past 
"That  clangs  and  flashes  for  a  drowning  man." 


CHAPTER  XLI 

IN  that  same  wind-wild  dawn,  Larry  awoke,  and  tried  to 
believe  that  he  was  a  bridegroom,  and  was  going  to  espouse 
Tishy  Mangan  in  the  course  of  the  next  few  hours. 

"C'est  toujours  I'imprevu  qui  arrive!"  he  told  himself. 
That  ancient  ditty,  "The  Yeoman's  Wedding,"  that  he  had 
often  heard  Dr.  Mangan  sing,  attacked  him  like  an  illness, 
and  enforced  its  galloping  metres  on  all  he  did. 

"Through  the  valley  we'll  haste, 

For  we've  no  time  to  waste! 
For  it  is  my  wedding  morning,  my  wedding  morning!" 

The  housemaid  (that  same  Upper  Housemaid  who  had 
spoken  of  the  riff-raff  of  Cluhir)  heard  him,  in  the  bath- 
room, loudly  announcing  his  intentions. 

"Ding  dong!  We'll  gallop  along!"  Larry  sang,  and  the 
Upper  Housemaid  said  to  her  subordinate,  "What  a  hurry 
he's  in!  Well!  Bright 's  his  fancy!" 

The  Upper  Housemaid  was  rash  in  thus  giving  her 
opinion.  Larry's  fancy  was  far  from  bright,  but  he  was 
of  those  unfortunates  who,  when  obsessed  by  a  tune,  must 
yield  to  its  importunity,  even  though  it  followed  him  to  the 
steps  of  the  scaffold. 

It  is  not  insinuated  that  Larry  was  now,  metaphorically, 
or  otherwise,  in  such  a  case.  He  was,  as  he  told  himself, 
quite  prepared  to  go  through  with  the  job,  but,  he  likewise 
told  himself,  it  was  a  rotten  sort  of  business  dressing  for  your 
wedding  with  not  a  soul,  bar  the  servants,  to  say  good  morn- 
ing to,  and  even  they  looked  as  sour  as  lemons  and  hadn't 
a  smile  among  the  lot  of  them.  Larry  drank  some  coffee, 

329 


330  MOUNT  MUSIC 

and  crumbled  some  toast,  and  brutally  and  wastefully  broke 
into  a  poached  egg,  turning  what  had  been  a  triumph  of 
snow,  into  a  yellow  peril,  and  gave  its  attendant  bacon  to 
Aunt  Freddy's  old  Pomeranian,  and  found  that  he  had  fin- 
ished his  breakfast,  and  that  it  was  no  more  than  ten  o'clock. 
The  rain  was  coming  down  in  torrents;  he  could  not  go  out, 
not  even  to  the  stables.  What  on  earth  was  he  to  do  from 
now  till  one  o'clock?  The  blooming  wedding  was  at  two. 

He  thought  of  it  as  some  one  else's,  and  realised  that  he 
so  thought  of  it,  and  then  just  tripped  himself  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  further  reflection  that  he  wished  it  were. 

"Probably  getting  married  is  always  a  bore,"  he  said  to 
himself,  consolingly.  "  'E's  all  right  when  you  know  'im,  but 
you've  got  to  know  'im  fust'!  Why  do  these  rotten  old 
songs  stick  in  my  head  like  this?  Because  I'm  a  fool,  no 
doubt,  and  always  was!" 

He  walked  into  the  hall,  and  there  surveyed  his  luggage, 
packed  and  ready,  and  appallingly  new. 

"It'll  give  the  show  away,  even  if  they  let  us  off  confetti," 
he  thought. 

He  wished  he  hadn't  given  in  to  this  High  Nuptial  Mass 
business,  and  a  big  wedding,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  but  the 
Doctor  and  Tishy  were  dead  keen  on  it,  and  he  had  been 
sat  on. 

He  and  Tishy  were  going  to  London,  and  if  this  gale 
lasted,  they  would  have  a  devil  of  a  crossing.  He  wondered 
if  Tishy  were  a  good  sailor.  He  wasn't,  anyhow.  He 
would  warn  her  that  he  would  be  no  more  use  to  her  than 
a  sick  headache,  which  she  would  probably  have,  to  start 
with,  and  she  wouldn't  want  another.  The  Mount  Music 
people  were  across  the  Channel  by  this  time,  ahead  of  the 
gale  too.  Luck  for  them!  Old  Mrs.  Twomey  had  told 
him  they  were  gone,  and  she  said  they  would  never  come 
back  again.  Silly  old  ass,  what  did  she  know  about  it? 

He  had  wandered  into  his  studio;  now,  without  his  own 
volition,  almost  as  if  he  were  hypnotised,  he  took  the  canvas 
on  which  he  had  painted  Christian,  from  where  it  was  lean- 


MOUNT  MUSIC  331 

ing,  face  inwards,  against  the  wall,  and  put  it  on  an  easel. 
He  had  not  looked  at  it  since  the  day  of  conflict,  and  he 
told  himself  that  he  was  now  regarding  it  with  the  frigid 
eye  of  the  art  critic. 

Yes,  it  was  good.  Better  than  he  thought.  The  technique 
was  jolly  good,  slick,  and  unworried,  and  the  likeness  was  all 
right  too.  He  had  somehow  just  got  hold  of  that  ethereal 
look  she  always  had  had.  She  was  hearing  those  voices 
they  used  to  chaff  her  about.  How  she  had  gone  for  John 
one  day,  when  he  began  ragging  her  about  that  old  hymn! 
She  always  had  the  pluck  of  the  devil!  He  frowned.  She 
hadn't  had  pluck  enough  to  stand  up  to  her  father!  He 
would  look  at  her  picture  no  longer.  He  wouldn't  think 
of  her.  She  had  chucked  him.  But  his  eyes  were  held  by 
the  eyes  that  he  had  painted;  with  a  rush,  the  thought  of 
her  possessed  him.  She  was  everywhere,  penetrating  his 
very  being,  "his  heart  in  her  hands";  he  shook  in  the  grip 
of  remembrance,  almost  of  realisation,  of  her  presence.  For 
a  moment,  Time  stood  still  for  him;  he  hung,  like  a  ship 
that  has  been  flung  up  into  the  wind,  trembling.  Then 
the  sails  filled,  the  present  re-asserted  itself.  He  was  going 
to  marry  Tishy  Mangan,  and  Christian  had  chucked  him. 
He  turned  the  canvas  again. 

Why  had  he  thought  of  that  beastly  hymn?  It  had  got 
hold  of  him  now!  The  measured  tramp  of  the  tune  fitted 
itself  to  the  tick  of  the  clattering  little  tin  clock  on  the 
studio  chimney-piece. 

"How  the  troops  of  Mid-ian, 
Prowl,  and  prowl  around! 
Christian!     Up  and  at  them " 


No,  that  was  what  the  Duke  of  Wellington  said  to  the 

Guards  at Oh,  damn  the  clock,  anyhow!     He  caught 

it  up,  and  pitched  it  across  the  room  on  to  a  sofa,  and 
hurled  a  bundle  of  draperies  after  it  and  on  top  of  it.  But 
the  tune  would  not  stop,  and  the  muffled,  unbaffled  tick  of 


332  MOUNT  MUSIC 

the  clock  went  on.  He  swung  out  of  the  studio,  and  went 
back  to  the  hall. 

The  house  had  its  back  to  the  storm,  and  it  was  only 
when  he  looked  down  the  Cluhir  avenue,  that  he  realised 
with  what  fury  the  rain  was  falling.  The  wind  had  moder- 
ated a  little,  but  the  barograph-needle  was  still  almost  off 
the  paper  it  had  gone  so  low.  It  was  only  eleven  o'clock. 
Two  hours  before  the  motor  was  to  come  for  him.  He 
felt,  as  he  told  himself,  using  the  adjective  that  has  had  to 
undertake  the  duties  of  so  many  others,  rotten.  Empty, 
and  rather  sick,  and,  well,  generally  beastly — a  sort  of  vague 
funk.  Yes,  by  Jove!  He  was  in  a  regular  blue  funk!  That 
was  what  was  wrong  with  him.  (But  he  certainly  felt  sick 
too.) 

What  on  earth  was  he  afraid  of?  The  service  couldn't 
last  for  ever,  and  he  had  barred  speeches  at  the  Collation 
(as  Mrs.  Mangan  insisted  on  calling  it).  His  thoughts 
took  a  twist.  Surely  he  wasn't  afraid  of  the  Mangans?  He 
liked  Mrs.  Mangan;  he  was  quite  fond  of  her,  quite  a  good 
sort  of  mother-in-law  she'd  make.  And  Barty,  his  best 

man,  good  old  Barty!  And  the  Doctor Of  course 

he  wasn't  afraid  of  the  Doctor  either.  He  had  always  liked 
him.  There  only  remained  Tishy.  Hang  it  all!  He  wasn't 
afraid  of  the  girl  he  was  going  to  marry!  She  might  have  a 
bit  of  a  temper — she  certainly  had  been  rather  rattled  these 
last  few  days,  but  you  couldn't  blame  her  for  that.  The 
very  last  time  he  had  seen  her — the  evening  before  the  big 
storm  began,  wasn't  it? — he  had  overtaken  her  in  the  dark 
in  the  Mall,  going  home  after  shopping,  and  that  long- 
legged  cad  of  a  fellow,  Cloherty,  carrying  her  parcels  for 
her.  By  Jove!  She  had  let  drive  at  him  after  Cloherty 
had  gone  and  they  were  in  the  house!  By  Jove,  yes!  He 
laughed  a  little  at  the  remembrance.  She  had  said  it  was 
a  nice  time  of  day  for  him  to  be  coming  over.  She  had 
jolly  nearly  cried,  she  was  so  mad  with  him.  For  the  life 
of  him  he  didn't  know  why.  But,  after  all,  that  wasn't 
exactly  temper. — Blowed  if  he  knew  what  it  was.  He  sup- 


MOUNT  MUSIC  333 

posed  it  was  temperament — quite  a  different  thing!  He 
laughed  and  had  a  look  at  a  large  and  splendid  photograph 
of  Miss  Mangan,  that  had  been  a  sort  of  corollary  of  the 
Dublin  trousseau.  Tishy  was  all  right.  Tishy  was  a  topper! 
He  said  it  aloud,  and,  with  that,  another  tune,  the  old 
nigger-tune,  "Nelly  was  a  Lady,"  fitted  itself  absurdly  to 
the  words. 

"Tishy  was  a  topper!"  he  sang.  "Last  night  she 

No,  she  didn't!  By  Jove,  there's  the  motor!  What's  it 
coming  at  this  hour  for?" 

He  watched  the  car  turn  into  the  wide  sweep  in  front 
of  the  house,  and  wheel  round  it,  and  draw  up  at  the  foot 
of  the  hall-door  steps.  It  looked  like  the  car  he  had  hired, 
he  knew  the  shover's  face,  but  there  was  someone  in  it.  He 
saw,  with  pleasure,  that  it  was  Barty  who  was  in  the  car. 
Good  old  Barty,  come  over  early  to  buck  him  up  a  bit. 
Larry  sprang  to  the  door,  and  as  he  opened  it,  Barty  was 
coming  up  the  steps.  He  stood  still  on  the  top  step.  He 
was  very  pale,  Barty  always  had  a  pasty  face,  Larry  thought, 
but  this  whiteness  was  different,  and  there  was  a  look  in 
his  eyes  that  made  Larry,  over-strung,  tuned  to  vibrate  to 
ill  tidings,  catch  his  arm,  and  say: 

"What  is  it?    Tell  me  quick!" 

Barty  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  seemed  as  if  he  could 
not  speak.  He  came  into  the  hall  and  shut  the  door  behind 
him  and  leaned  against  it,  one  hand  still  on  the  handle,  his 
breath  coming  short  and  fast. 

"My  father  was  drowned  last  night!"  he  said  at  last, 
in  a  low,  hurried  voice.  "He  drove  into  the  river.  The 

flood  was  up  on  the  road.  Wait,  Larry!  That  isn't  all " 

he  went  on  quickly,  holding  up  his  other  hand  to  keep  Larry 
from  speaking.  "That's  bad  enough,  God  knows!  But  this 
other  thing  is  Disgrace!" 

Larry  waited. 

"It  isn't  easy  to  tell  you,"  said  Barty,  moistening  his  dry 
lips.  "There's  just  one  good  thing  about  it,  my  father 
didn't  know " 


334  MOUNT  MUSIC 

"What  is  it?    Look  sharp!" 

Larry  was  shaking  with  the  strain  of  waiting  for  this 
withheld  horror. 

"Tishy  was  caught  out  by  the  flood  last  night;  she  didn't 
come  home " 

"What!     She  also ?"  stammered  Larry. 

"I  wish  to  God  she  were!"  said  Barty,  fiercely.  "No! 
But  while  my  father  was  going  to  his  death,  maybe  when  he 
was  drowning  itself,  she  bolted  with  Ned  Cloherty!  They 
went  to  Dublin  on  the  mail — a  porter  at  the  station  saw 
them — there's  no  doubt  about  it!" 

Larry  sat  down  by  a  table,  and  put  his  head  on  his  arms 
and  tried  to  think.  His  brain  was  whirling.  He  had  covered 
his  eyes,  because  he  knew  if  he  saw  Barty 's  tragic  face  again 
he  would  laugh,  and  if  he  began  to  laugh,  he  said  to  himself, 
God  only  knew  when  he  would  stop.  It  was  a  fatal  trick 
of  his  nerves,  he  could  never  make  Barty  understand.  He 
would  be  shocked  and  scandalised  for  ever. 

The  Doctor  drowned!  He  must  fix  his  mind  on  that. 
He  mustn't  think  of  Tishy;  if  he  did,  he  knew  that  this 
horrible,  inhuman  surge  of  joy  that  was  pulsing  in  him 
would  betray  itself  in  his  face,  would  overwhelm  him,  like 
the  flood  in  the  river,  would  sweep  away  all  decency,  sym- 
pathy, would  leave  him  bare  of  all  that  he  ought  to  feel 
and  express.  (But  to  think  that  he  hadn't  to  get  married 
to-day!  Oh,  blessed,  beautiful  Cloherty!)  He  was  going 
to  be  very  angry  with  Cloherty,  as  soon  as  he  had  pulled 
himself  together.  Cloherty  had  behaved  like  a  blackguard; 
he  had  blackened  Larry's  face;  he  had  shamed  him;  had 
stolen  his  girl (but,  for  all  that,  oh,  Blessed  and  Beau- 
tiful  !) 

Larry  and  Barty  sat  for  awhile  and  talked,  saying,  as 
people  will,  at  such  moments,  dull  things  over  and  over 
again,  uninspired,  conventional,  stupid  things.  Both  were 
equally  afraid  to  say  the  things  that  were  in  their  minds 
about  Tishy  and  Cloherty;  Barty,  because  he  was  so  angry 
with  her  that  he  feared  he  might  hurt  Larry;  Larry,  because 


MOUNT  MUSIC  335 

he  told  himself  he  would  have  to  sit  down  to  the  thing 
squarely,  and  think  it  out,  before  he  knew  what  to  say  about 
it.  He  tried  to  concentrate  on  the  death  of  Barty's  father, 
but  here,  strangely  enough,  Barty  seemed  equally  unable  to 
respond  without  restraint. 

"I've  got  to  go  on  to  Mount  Music.  They  say  the  flood's 
down,  and  you  can  get  there  now,"  he  said,  presently,  in  the 
voice  from  which  all  the  colour  and  life  had  died,  "I've 
arranged  for  a  hearse.  I  had  a  wire,  early,  telling  me  what 
—what  had  happened.  I  was  wondering,  Larry,  would  you 

come  with  me?  I've  no  right,  now,  to  ask  you,  but " 

His  tired  voice  died  on  the  sentence,  his  mournful  eyes 
sought  Larry's  and  said  what  his  lips  failed  to  say. 

"My  dear  old  chap,"  said  Larry,  ardently,  grateful  for  the 
chance  of  showing  Barty  that  he  bore  no  ill  will  to  him, 
"Of  course  I  will!  Anything  I  could  do  to  help  you,  I'd 
be  only  too  glad — you  mustn't  think  anything  will  make  a 
difference " 

They  said  little  to  each  other  as  the  motor  splashed  along 
the  flooded  road.  Each  was  absorbed  in  the  effort  to  en- 
visage the  profound  changes  that  had  befallen  himself  in  a 
single  night.  More  than  once  Barty  turned  to  Larry  as  if 
he  were  about  to  speak,  and  then  turned  away;  they  came 
to  the  Mount  Music  entrance,  and  as  the  car  turned  in 
through  the  gateway,  Barty  suddenly  put  his  bony  and  pallid 
hand  on  Larry's  knee. 

"There's  a  thing  no  one  here  knows  but  myself,  and  I 
didn't  hear  it  till  two  days  ago,  but  I  can't  bear  the  weight 
of  it  any  longer.  I  can't  give  you  all  the  details,  but  you 
may  rely  on  what  I  say  being  correct."  He  looked  away 
from  Larry  out  of  the  window.  The  car  was  running 
swiftly  up  the  smooth  levels  of  the  long  avenue;  he  knew 
he  had  no  time  for  circumlocution.  "My  father  told  me," 
he  began,  "that  in  some  way,  between  himself  and  the 
Major  a  lot  of  money  had  passed.  The  Major  was  greatly 
pressed  for  money — he  wasn't  getting  his  rents,  and  there 
were  many  liabilities — my  father  got  hold  of  them  all.  I 


336  MOUNT  MUSIC 

think  he  lent  him  a  lot  of  money  too "  He  paused  an 

instant,  then  he  rushed  on  with  his  story.  "Anyway,  what- 
ever was  between  them,  the  Major  gave  my  father  the  tide- 
deeds  of  this  house  and  the  demesne  in  security  for  what 
he  had  borrowed.  My  father  has  them  now,  I  mean,"  he 
corrected  himself,  "they're  in  my  office.  He  said  they  were 
for  me — he  as  good  as  gave  them  to  me."  Barty  slowly 
turned  a  dusky  red.  He  thought  of  what  his  father  had 
said  of  Mount  Music,  of  Christian;  the  arrogance,  the 
hateful  f acetiousness ;  he  had  felt  as  if  brutal  hands  had 
been  laid  on  a  saint;  even  now,  he  shuddered  in  spirit  as 
remembrance  came  to  him. 

"Good  God!  Was  that  why  they  went  away?"  Larry 
said,  with  a  horror  that  scarcely  permitted  of  speech.  "Do 
you  mean  the  place  isn't  theirs  any  more?"  He  thought: 
"I  wish  he'd  take  his  hand  off  my  knee!  Thank  God,  I'm 
out  of  it!" 

"It"  meant  marriage  with  the  daughter  and  the  sister  of 
men  who  could  do  such  things. 

Perhaps  some  telepathic  vibration  from  that  wave  of  re- 
pulsion reached  Barty. 

"You  needn't  think  I  had  anything  to  do  with  it,"  he 
muttered,  withdrawing  his  hand,  "or  ever  will!"  he  added, 
as  if  to  himself. 

Larry  remained  silent;  the  car  ground  into  the  heavy 
river-gravel  on  the  sweep  in  front  of  the  house,  and  ceased 
at  the  door  that  he  had  not  seen  since  that  day  of  wrath 
when  he  had  cast  his  cousins  behind  him  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

DR.  MANGAN'S  body  was  still  lying  on  the  ddor  an  which 
it  had  been  carried  up  from  the  river-bank.  Kitchen  chairs 
now  supported  it  where  it  lay,  with  its  burden,  between  the 
high  windows,  in  the  desolate,  sheeted  dining-room,  sur- 
rounded by  portraits  of  Talbots,  and  Lowrys,  and  their 
collaterals,  who  would  surely  have  considered  the  presence 
of  Francis  Aloysius  Mangan,  dead  or  alive,  as  something 
of  an  intrusion,  not  to  say  a  liberty. 

Old  Evans  opened  the  hall  door,  and  silently  led  the  two 
young  men  through  the  hall,  and  opening  the  dining-room 
door,  left  them  there.  They  stood  looking  down  on  the  Big 
Doctor  in  silence.  The  strong,  coarse  face  had  taken  on 
that  aloof  dignity,  even  splendour  of  expression,  that  death 
can  confer.  The  servants  had  covered  all  else  with  a  sheet; 
the  soaked  fur  collar  of  the  coat  was  turned  up,  and  made 
a  pillow  for  the  big,  iron-grey  head. 

With  a  shaking  hand  Barty  turned  back  the  sheet.  His 
father's  thick,  powerful  hands  were  crossed  on  his  broad 
breast.  The  son  stooped  and  kissed  them,  humbly;  then 
he  replaced  the  sheet,  and  kissed  the  heavy  brow,  from  which 
all  the  marks  of  the  turmoil  of  life  had  been  smoothed. 

"I  believe  he  is  near  us,"  he  whispered;  he  took  a  prayer- 
book  from  his  pocket  and  knelt,  his  head  resting  on  the 
covered  form. 

Larry  knelt  also.  If  only  Barty  had  not  told  him  that 
abhorrent  thing.  He  tried  to  forget  it,  to  pray  for  the  soul 
of  the  man  who  had,  as  he  believed,  always  been  kind  to  him, 
and  a  good  friend.  Larry  was  undevout,  careless,  thinking 
little  of  spiritual  things,  so  little,  that  he  had  scarcely 
troubled  himself  either  to  question  or  to  accept  what  he 

337 


338  MOUNT  MUSIC 

had  been  taught,  but  he  was  quick  to  respond  to  emotion 
of  any  kind;  now  he  listened,  with  an  unaccustomed 
reverence,  to  Barty's  voice,  brokenly  whispering  the  prayers 
of  his  Church.  Their  unfamiliar  beauty  stirred  his  imagina- 
tion, their  appeal  for  mercy  wakened  his  heart,  and  made 
him  ask  himself  what  was  he  that  he  should  refuse  mercy! 
He  felt  the  anger,  that  had  only  been  roused  in  him  within 
the  last  few  minutes,  dying,  merged  in  pity  and  in  awe. 

"By  the  multitude  of  Thy  mercies,  ever  compassionate 
to  human  frailty,  deliver  him,  O  Lord!"  Barty's  husky, 
shaking  voice  murmured.  "Give  him,  O  Lord,  eternal  rest, 
and  let  perpetual  light  shine  upon  him " 

The  door  was  opened  and  Evans  said: 

"The  police  are  here,  and  are  asking  for  Mr.  Mangan." 

Barty  rose  from  his  knees;  without  a  word,  he  placed  the 
prayer  book  in  Larry's  hands,  and  left  the  room. 

Larry  had  risen  also,  but  instead  of  following  Barty  he 
knelt  again  by  the  Big  Doctor's  still  figure,  and  began  to 
speak  to  him  in  the  low  voice  that  is  the  mark  of  recognition 
of  the  great  mystery  of  death,  and  tells  of  that  singular, 
sudden  reverence  that  is  bestowed  on  the  body  when  the 
spirit  has  left  it;  a  reverence  that  seems  to  imply  a  belief 
in  the  nearness  of  the  freed  spirit,  which  is  unsupported  by 
the  immeasurable  remoteness  of  the  expression  of  the  mask 
that  it  once  wore. 

"Doctor,"  said  Larry,  "I  don't  know  if  you  can  hear  me, 
but  I'll  chance  it.  I  want  to  tell  you  that  it's  not  my  fault 
about  Tishy,  and  the  wedding  not  coming  off.  She  bolted 

with  Ned  Cloherty  last  night "  he  checked  himself,  and 

felt  he  ought  to  apologise  for  talking  slang,  and  then  thought 
that  if  it  were  the  Doctor,  himself,  he  wouldn't  mind. 
"Tishy  liked  Cloherty  best,"  he  hurried  on,  "and  she  was 
probably  quite  right,  but  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  would 
have  played  up  all  right."  Then  he  said,  hesitating,  that 
Barty  had  told  him  a  thing  that  he  didn't  quite  understand 
the  rights  of.  "You  must  forgive  me  if  I  felt  angry.  I 
daresay  there's  a  lot  to  be  said  on  your  side  if  I  only  knew 


MOUNT  MUSIC  339 

it.  But  I  don't  and  you  can't  tell  me  now "  He  stood 

up,  and  touching  the  cold  brow,  smoothed  back  the  damp 
hair.  "You  were  always  awfully  good  to  me,"  he  said,  and, 
stooping,  kissed  the  forehead,  as  Barty  had  done,  and  found 
that  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

As  he  stood  erect  again,  he  saw  he  was  not  alone  in  the 
room.  A  girl  was  standing  just  behind  him  with  a  basket 
of  Christmas  roses  in  her  hand,  a  girl  who  had  come  quietly 
in  while  he  was  speaking,  and  had  waited,  watching,  with 
eyes  that  saw  more  than  Larry's  kneeling  figure  beside  the 
dead  man,  listening,  with  senses  that  were  perceptive  of  a 
fellow-listener,  in  whom  were  newly-learnt  impulses  of  self- 
reproach  and  penitence. 

"Christian!"  said  Larry,  trembling,  as  he  had  trembled 
when  he  spoke  to  her  by  the  Druid  Stone  on  Cnocan  an 
Ceoil  Sidhe. 


340  MOUNT  MUSIC 


THIS  story,  which  has  not  aspired  to  being  a  story,  and  is 
no  more  than  an  effort  to  lift,  for  a  moment,  the  inevitable 
curtain  that  hangs  between  Irish  and  English  every-day  life, 
shall  not  be  tidied-up,  and  rounded  off,  even  though  as 
much,  nearly,  remains  unsaid,  as  would  equal  what  has  gone 
before. 

Summaries  are  tedious,  and  demand  a  skill,  in  making 
them  endurable,  that  is  bestowed  on  few.  Its  possession 
might,  perhaps,  be  conceded  to  Mrs.  Twomey  (who  knows 
more  about  many  things  than  most  people).  Unfortunately, 
however,  it  happens  that  but  one  observation  of  hers,  bearing 
on  the  situation,  has  been  preserved: 

"Why  then,  I  knew  well  she'd  have  him!"  she  declared. 
"She  was  fond  of  him  always!"  She  warmed  to  her  theme. 
"And  why  wouldn't  she  be  fond  of  him?  Sure  the  dog'd 
be  fond  of  him!" 

From  which  it  may  be  gathered  that  Mrs.  Twomey,  who, 
like  King  David,  thought  badly  of  dogs,  holding  that  they 
were  as  unimpressionable  as  they  were  savage,  had  a  high 
opinion  of  young  Mr.  Coppinger's  powers  of  attraction. 

Possibly,  also,  the  statement  may  be  taken  as  an  indication 
that  she  had  no  sympathy  with  the  views  of  the  Spirit  of  the 
Nation  in  the  matter  of  what  are  called  "Mixed  Marriages." 


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